


Just Breathe

by olivebranchesandredwine



Series: Yogaverse [1]
Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Yoga, Canon Gay Character, Canon LGBTQ Character, David's POV, Embedded Images, Eventual Smut, First Kiss, Firsts, Frottage, Light E for ch. 12, M/M, Making Out, Meet-Cute, Pansexual Character, Patrick Brewer is Gay, Pining, Slow Burn, Yoga
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:21:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 28,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivebranchesandredwine/pseuds/olivebranchesandredwine
Summary: In this AU, David's anxiety comes back after the Blouse Barn closes, so he turns to yoga to ease his mind. And guess who happens to own the new yoga studio in Elmdale.--Now with cover art.
Relationships: Patrick Brewer/David Rose, Stevie Budd & David Rose, Theodore "Ted" Mullens & David Rose
Series: Yogaverse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1583770
Comments: 330
Kudos: 361
Collections: Schitt's Creek Open Fic Night 2.0





	1. Cover Art

**Author's Note:**

  * For [queerofcups](https://archiveofourown.org/users/queerofcups/gifts).



> Dearest reader, while this is not the slowest of slow burns in this fandom, it is certainly not a brushfire. There is pining. There is miscommunication. There is approximately a metric fuckton of words before it earns the lightly E rating (skip to chapter 12 if that’s all you want). Consider yourself warned. 
> 
> Queerofcups, I hope you enjoy this—I tried to tie in a couple of your prompts (alternate meeting, David and Patrick discussing history), but the story veered a bit. I hope that’s ok.


	2. Meet Cute

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David's struggling with anxiety, and Ted suggests giving yoga another try. Enter Patrick Brewer, yoga teacher.

The panic attacks were back. 

When they first moved to Schitt’s Creek, David had found some relief from his crippling anxiety at Twyla’s partner yoga classes—that is, on those rare days when Jocelyn needed partner. 

And, of course, his burgeoning friendship with Stevie helped with the loneliness, although that got fucked up for a while after that stupid “friends with benefits” experiment. Once that was sorted, though, things got better. And maybe the weed helped a bit, too. 

But now that Wendy was selling the Blouse Barn, David’s anxiety had gotten bad. Again. Even in the best of times, it was always there, a dull thrum just beneath the surface; now it was ratcheted up to an eleven. And the panic attacks. They were happening more frequently, and nothing was helping. 

If Ted was surprised to see David back in his clinic for advice, he masked it well. He had offered David a hearty handshake-into-a-hug and then just sat with him, gave David time and space to open up on his own terms. It was comforting, David had to admit, to have someone do that. Sitting there across the desk from David, with no expectations, no sarcasm, no irritation. Even if Ted couldn’t get him the drugs that David knew from a lifetime of medicated (self and otherwise) anxiety disorders would help, having someone show unfiltered concern felt...nice? 

“Sorry to hear you’re _feline_ anxious, bud,” Ted’s whole face brightened as he delivered that horrible pun, but he quickly backed off, resuming that earnest sincerity that David found utterly baffling. “You know how you said you feel better and can sleep after Twyla’s yoga classes? Have you thought about doing more of that? Maybe looking for some videos on YouTube or something?” Ted asked.

“I know,” David sighed, grumpily shaking his head as he rolled his eyes. “I’ve been _trying_ to do that, but—” he waved his arms in frustration, “it’s just…not the same?” David let out another frustrated breath, then glanced over at Ted. He was always so...genuine. The opposite of what David was used to back in his old life. Ted would’ve been good for Alexis, if she had given him a chance. David had to look away, couldn’t bear to maintain eye contact while sharing genuine human emotion. He clasped his hands in his lap, hoping to still their frenetic energy, that never-ending need to _keep moving_ , even if just for just a moment while he spoke. “I can’t seem to get out of my head…get out of my own way, I guess, when it’s a video on my phone. I just can’t get still that way. Everything’s too…too loud in my brain to shut it out.” 

“Oh,” Ted replied, his voice soft and sincere. “In that case, maybe you could check out a class in Elmdale? See if you can find the quiet there?” Ted brought a soothing hand to rest on David’s shoulder, gave it a light squeeze. 

“I..uh, that’s a—um...a great idea, Ted. I should look into that,” David dropped his eyes back to his lap, to where his clasped hands were shaking with the need to gesticulate, to move, to _do_ something. “Thank you for talking to me. I know you have, uh...much better ways to spend your time, so, I appreciate it.” His voice got softer as he felt himself ramble on.

“No problem, big guy!” Ted clapped his hand firmly on David’s shoulder blade. “It was good to see you.”

David walked out of Ted’s clinic feeling more hopeful than he’d felt in days. Having a plan, something tangible he could do certainly helped. Now, he thought, let’s just hope Elmdale has more of a yoga community than Twyla’s pop-up couples classes. 

Thankfully, Elmdale did prove to have more of a yoga community than Schitt’s Creek, but not by much. In addition to a couple of classes offered at the Elmdale Community Center—Chair Yoga for Seniors and Prenatal Yoga—a new yoga studio had recently opened up. David decided to pull the trigger on the New Student special (two weeks unlimited for $30), and signed up for something called Relax and Restore that night. As he clicked “Book” on his MindBody app, David felt a bubble of nervous energy. He didn’t want to hope too hard that this would change anything—hope had never caused him anything but pain in the past—but he couldn’t help himself. It was a sheer numbers game at this point; eventually _something_ good would have to happen to him, right? 

_Maybe this time, I’ll be lucky…_

***

David had to wrestle the keys from Alexis’ limp-wristed, but surprisingly strong, T-Rex hands to get the Lincoln for the night; however, he’d been determined and made it happen, even though his usual _m.o._ was to just let her have what she wanted. So she huffed out a “Rude, David!” as she stomped off, but honestly? David could not have given less of a fuck. He was excited to see if this new yoga place would have the same effect on him as Twyla’s classes. 

When he arrived at the tiny studio space in Elmdale, David’s stomach was fluttering with a combination of nerves from the drive, anticipation for the class, and, of course, the ever-present thrum of anxiety always simmering just beneath his skin. 

The MindBody app had instructed new students to arrive fifteen minutes early, and for some reason, it felt more important to follow that instruction than to adhere to his former life’s need to be fashionably late to new interactions as a display of dominance—that _my time is more important than yours_ air of the selfish and superficial that he’d mastered well before puberty. Granted, if David were honest with himself, he’d admit that being late to things made him more anxious, gave him something else to worry about. Of course, tonight, that need to _not_ be late, wrapped up in all of his baggage, was also why David found himself standing in front of the locked door of Vishuddha Yoga at 6:45pm, looking for any sign of life inside the dark studio and trying to remember what Twyla had said about making his exhales longer than his inhales to calm his heart rate. Or maybe it was the other way around. This is why David needed the class, obviously. So much for the new teacher being _considerate_.

Soon, something flickered at the back of the studio, and David could see a flurry of movement from his station in front of the glass door. A dark figure scampered around with one of those long lighters, lighting up pillar candles along the walls of the room. As the figure moved closer to the front, David could make out a man’s form—hair that was a bit too corporate for his tastes, but that was okay because beneath that cheap hair cut were broad shoulders and a trim waist covered in a _very_ flattering t-shirt, and a pair of thighs that made David’s mouth water. _Fuck._ And also _Yum._ But, as David felt stirrings of something decidedly _not_ relaxing in his pants, his thoughts veered more fully into the _Fuck_ category. Somehow, he had a feeling that this wasn’t going to be as relaxing as resting over Jocelyn in child’s pose in Mutt’s barn. 

_Oh shit._ David realized that those tree trunk thighs were headed his way only a few seconds before the door opened, and he was greeted with a warm smile that reminded him of Ted’s in its earnest intensity. 

“Come on in! Sorry I’m running a little bit late this evening; got caught in a bit of traffic leaving the office,” Earnest Smile apologized, rubbing the back of his head adorably as he spoke. “I’m Patrick. Brewer.” Earnest Smile— _Patrick_ —offered his head-rubbing hand to David, who shook it like the son of Johnny Rose had been groomed to do all his life. Firm, commanding. “David Rose.” 

“It’s great to meet you, David. Welcome to Vishuddha Yoga. Let me get you checked in.” 


	3. Relax and Restore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David attends his first class at Vishuddha Yoga, taught by Patrick Brewer.

David wasn’t sure what to expect when he signed up for the class, but this…wasn’t exactly it. Once Patrick had checked him in to class and given him a tour of the intimate studio—“this is where we practice; there’s the washroom and changing area; we’ve got a tea kettle if you’d like a cup”—he brought David to a taped off spot in the corner of the room. “Set up your mat here, and I’ll be back with your props.” He returned from the shelves along the back wall with his arms full of multicolored woven blankets, foam blocks, and a long, stiff pillow. Patrick had grinned when he saw David’s obviously confused, probably horrified grimace. “Don’t worry, David. I’ll get everything set up for you when the time comes,” he assured, giving David what could only be described as either an eye twitch or half-wink? Before David had time to react, the chimes at the door were twinkling, and Patrick leapt up to attend to other students, leaving David to obsess over whatever the fuck that was until it was time for class to begin. 

The first part of the class had been kind of similar to what he’d done with Twyla, only without a partner. Patrick started with a breathing exercise and then led the class through some gentle stretches, but they stayed close to the floor the entire time, either kneeling or seated. No downward dogs or warrior ones or trees or anything like that, just stretching and breathing. And it was nice. Soothing. And, David happily realized, it didn’t cause him to break a sweat, which suddenly became important as he watched Patrick Brewer’s ass flexing in those thin blue shorts. 

“That’s it, David. Keep breathing. Press up into my hand as you exhale,” David had been startled by Patrick’s voice as they moved through a series of Cat and Cow tilts; he hadn’t realized that he was daydreaming. The feeling of Patrick’s hand between his shoulder blades sent shivers up and down David’s spine. David let his body move away from Patrick’s hand as he inhaled into Cow, and then puffed up between his shoulder blades to push into the warmth of Patrick’s palm as he exhaled into Cat. Patrick had nice hands, he thought, dopily, as he breathed through another round of the movement. 

_Fuck._ The last thing David needed right now was a stupid schoolboy crush on his yoga teacher. _Just breathe, David._

About halfway through the class, Patrick returned to the front of the room. “Alright, everyone, it’s time to shift gears a bit as we transition into the restorative part of the class. Go ahead and set up for a reclined butterfly with your blocks and bolster. I’ll be come around to help get everyone set up and comfy.” He shot David another one of those half-winks, and it made David’s stomach drop out of his feet. 

David watched everyone busily setting up, shifting blocks and pillows and blankets into a variety of shapes around him, and just looked at Patrick a bit helplessly. 

“Let’s get you into position, David,” Patrick murmured as he knelt down next to David, who could’ve sworn he saw a flush creeping across Patrick’s cheeks before dismissing it as wishful thinking. Patrick arranged David’s blocks and a folded blanket in the center of his mat, and then rested the bolster at an angle atop them. 

“Bring the base of your spine flush against the edge of the bolster, and then lie back.” David did what Patrick instructed, and waited for more direction. 

“Good. Now bring the soles of your feet together in front of you, and let your knees fall out wide,” Patrick watched as David moved his lower body into position, and nodded approvingly. “That’s it. Now, how do you feel?” 

“Um, okay, I guess? How am I supposed to feel?” David’s voice was quiet, uncertain, but Patrick rewarded his question with a bright, wide smile. 

“Just comfortable. Let me check your alignment,” Patrick’s face got adorably serious, his forehead scrunched up and brows furrowed as he appraised David’s position on the bolster. “Here, let's do this…” his voice trailed off as he folded and rolled one of the woven blankets, and then moved it underneath David’s head and neck. “How’s that feel?”

“Oh, much better!” David hadn’t even realized it wasn’t comfortable before, but _this_ was certainly a big improvement. Patrick continued to examine David’s position, adding folded blankets under his knees and forearms, and then finally unfolding one last blanket and draping it over his whole body. 

“There, snug as a bug in a rug,” Patrick grinned as he spoke, and it may have made something in David’s chest flutter. “Now, just settle in and focus on your breath.” 

David let his eyes linger on Patrick’s ass as he got up and walked away, making a round of the room to help a few other students get settled, but he soon found his eyelids drooping. This _was_ very comfortable. So David followed Patrick’s instructions and focused on his breath.

“Take a deep breath in, and full breath out,” a strong voice guided from somewhere in the distance. “Repeat that three more times.” David blinked his eyes and began to take in his surroundings. He was wrapped up, cozy and warm, in a garish blue, black, and orange blanket, and his limbs felt heavy. _Oh,_ he thought, _I must have dozed off for a few minutes._

David glanced around the room and realized that the rest of the class was in a different position—their legs resting on the bolsters now. If he didn’t feel so blissfully relaxed in this moment, he might have been worried that he had messed up. But that didn’t matter; nothing mattered right now except that stillness beneath his skin. The dull thrum was quiet; the frenetic, barely containable energy that led him to communicate by moving his whole body was still, and it made him want to cry, to sing, to lie there and just _enjoy it._ Peace. Unmedicated, simple _peace._

“When you’re ready, go ahead and make your way to a comfortable seat,” Patrick’s voice rang out like a bell against this unexpected stillness of David’s mind. It was beautiful, mesmerizing. David thought he could happily listen to Patrick talk for the rest of his life. 

“Sit up tall and strong, and bring your hands together in front of your heart.”

David finally braved a look toward the sound of that buttery voice, and was rewarded with a shy smile in his direction, he hoped. David looked behind him, just out of habit, because people just don’t make _that_ kind of sweet smile at David Rose. Only…Patrick _was?_ He was in the corner with no one behind him and Patrick “Earnest Smile” Brewer just smiled at him like that. David’s chest fluttered again. 

“Thank you all so much for trusting me to guide you through your practice this evening. It’s always my honor and pleasure. I hope to see you all again soon.” Patrick brought his hands up to his eyebrows and gave a little bow, and the rest of the class followed suit. David was still so caught up in that smile that all he could do was sit there and kind of nod, hoping like hell that the look on his face wasn’t as lovesick as he felt.

_Fuckity fuck fuck fucking fuck._

“So, David, what did you think?” Patrick’s eyes were gleaming in the candlelight, and his face lit up with a playful grin. David decided that he liked being teased by Patrick. Very much so. 

He crooked his mouth to the left in an attempt to rein in his smile, felt his own eyes crinkling up in that smile he couldn’t fully tamp down, and just nodded. “I think I liked it.” David could feel a flush spreading across his cheeks from the intensity of Patrick’s gaze, and looked down to his mat to find some relief from the knot building at the base of his stomach. “It’s different from what I’m used to.” He started to fold one of the garish blankets, desperate for something to do with his hands as he lit up from inside from Patrick’s attention. 

“Yeah? How so?” Patrick tilted his head to the side, genuinely curious to hear David’s thoughts. He looked like an adorable little puppy dog. David felt his eyes grow wide as he realized, to his horror, that his inner monologue was starting to sound like Alexis. Double motherfucking fuck. He took a deep breath, and resumed his folding.

“Well,” David cleared his throat and looked up to the ceiling, “I’ve only taken couples classes before? So, clearly, there’s that.” He gave a careless wave of his hand and shook his head. “And, like, the props? All of that was new. I—it was nice,” he cast a nervous glance toward Patrick’s sweet, open face, and then quickly looked away. “I feel more relaxed than I have in a while, so...um, thank you. For that.” 

“You’re welcome, David.” Patrick’s smile was electric, hypnotic; it made David want to lean forward and kiss it off of him. “I mean, I kind of figured you were feeling pretty relaxed around when you started drooling in your sleep.” Another wink, this time accompanied by a playful smirk as Patrick brought his finger up to point to the corner of his mouth. 

“Oh my god; tell me I did not—” David managed to sputter out as his eyes grew wide and his hands rushed to his mouth before Patrick doubled over with laughter. “Gotcha!” 

“You’re a troll,” David bandied back. “Isn’t it against some kind of Yoga Teacher Code to mock your students during their first class? Should I report you to the yoga police or something?” He looked around the now empty studio, and suddenly felt a heavy sensation in his rib cage, like his heart was trying to pound its way out of his body. Only this time, it wasn’t from anxiety. 

Patrick suddenly looked very serious, his eyes boring holes into David. “I’m so sorry, David,” he started, “but your first class is officially over, so there’s nothing the yoga police can do about it.” _Ass._ And now David was thinking of just how many other things he’d like to do to wipe that smirk off Patrick’s face. 

They settled into a comfortable silence as David finished folding the blankets and Patrick swept up. “You know, you don’t have to do that,” Patrick murmured after David went to put his blankets back onto the shelf, and then quickly rearranged the whole shelf into stacks of more complementary palettes. David gave the blankets a final once over, then turned to Patrick, his brow still furrowed in concentration. “Oh, I—I just...that’s something I do? Sometimes. Nervous habit. I’m sorry. I...can put them back?” He grimaced, scrunching up his eyes, before opening one just enough to peek over at Patrick’s face. He was rewarded with a soft smile, a gentle little quirk of Patrick’s lips as he gazed fondly at David, to the blankets, and then back to David. It made David’s cheeks burn. 

“I like them like this,” Patrick spoke, his voice small and quiet, absent the teasing David had already come to expect after knowing him little more than an hour—if David had to put a label on it, he’d go so far as to call it shy. “Thank you, David.”

David returned that soft grin with one of his own, responding with an equally bashful, “you’re welcome, Patrick. Thanks for an amazing class. I...uh, hope I’ll see you again soon.” 

That night, David slept more soundly than he had in years. And although he couldn’t remember them, he woke knowing that he’d dreamt of _something_ nice. 


	4. Yoga Double Header

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They do yoga; they flirt; David pines. That's it; that's the summary.

Over the several days, David tried out as many classes as he could attend. Apparently Vishuddha Yoga catered to the sort of people who not only practiced yoga, but liked to do so early in the morning. And, well, what’s the point of getting a decent night’s sleep if you have to interrupt it in the middle of the night to go to a yoga class in Elmdale? That most of the 6am classes were taught by instructors named Diane and Robin and Arwen and not by a certain button-face with thighs like tree trunks? That was irrelevant…mostly. While he’d certainly enjoyed the interaction with Patrick that night, David really did want to give yoga a chance to help him with the panic attacks. 

He attended Lunchtime Express Vinyasa a couple of times, each time struggling through the quick pace of the class and winding up sweaty and exhausted afterward. Not his favorite. Tuesday Night Deep Stretch with Diane, though? He felt the tension in his shoulders and hips (seriously, how the fuck do you get tense hips?) just dissolve as she led the class through a series of lunges and other standing poses before moving to seated poses on the floor. And the guided meditation she did during savasana, which he’d learned meant…something, but preferred to think of it as the end-of-class nap? David was out like a light the same way he’d done during his first class with Patrick. He felt almost giddy afterward, so content that he didn’t even think to scoff as Diane chanted something in Sanskrit at them and dinged a bell at the end of class. 

Thursday night, he decided to try something called a Yoga Double Header because he wanted to experience the full range of classes at the studio. And, okay, maybe he was the tiniest bit excited at the thought of seeing Patrick on Thursday night. And okay, maybe he was so excited about it that he signed up for two classes in a row, for whatever a Yoga Double Header was, because…well, maybe Patrick was teaching them both. 

Okay, so he was really looking forward to that. For therapeutic purposes. Or something. 

***

David got to the studio 10 minutes before the first class started on Thursday night and was surprised that it was so packed, at least 15 people milling about the small space. He hoped that nobody else had claimed his favorite spot. His face fell when he glanced over to the corner and saw that someone had already placed their blocks and a blanket there. Dammit. David surveyed the rest of the space, seeking out an alternate location, inferior though it may be. 

“I saved your spot,” a familiar voice came from behind and enveloped David in warmth. David grinned, a full-face affair that made his dimples pop as he turned around. 

“Hi,” he murmured, already lost in those playful, whiskey brown eyes, “Thank you.” David went to his corner and unrolled his mat, meticulously placing the blocks on either side of the top corners. 

“I’m glad to have you back in class, David,” Patrick had ducked his head, and was idly rubbing his neck with one hand as he glanced up through his lashes at the taller man. Did he realize how fucking adorable that move was? He had to, right? “I hope you’ve been enjoying your first week at the studio.”

“Yes, thanks,” David said, suddenly feeling like he didn’t quite fit in his body, his arms and legs all heavy and awkward as he stood. He gave Patrick a tiny little smirk, and asked, “By the way, why do you call tonight’s classes that?”

“Call them what?” Patrick tilted his head, obviously not expecting the question. 

“Double Header…whatever _that_ is,” David offered, with a tiny little shake of his head, mouth moving deliberately as if he were tasting the words, trying them out for the first time.

Patrick’s face split into a wide grin, “Oh, because they’re two classes back to back, like a double header.” Seeing how David’s brow furrowed at his answer, he continued, “like in baseball?” 

“So it’s like a double _feature,_ ” David concluded, nodding to himself. “You could’ve just said that and not made it so confusing.” 

“Ah,” the teasing lilt had returned to Patrick’s voice, “not a big baseball fan, I take it.” 

“What part of this,” David gestured up and down his body, clad in black Rick Owens joggers and a t-shirt that probably cost more than a month’s rent for the studio, “would suggest I’m into _baseball_?” He may have snarled a little as he said the word, which just made Patrick chuckle. 

“Point taken. I’m gonna go get ready to start now.” And okay, maybe David did check out his ass as he walked away, but it was a _good_ ass, in thin shorts, and it’s not like David was the only one doing it. Quite a few of the students waiting for class to start were watching with interest as Patrick moved through the studio. 

The middle-aged woman setting up next to him whispered conspiratorially as Patrick walked away, “Nice view, huh?” David felt his cheeks flush at being caught mid-stare, but just leaned into it, quirking an eyebrow as he spoke. “This class _does_ have its perks.” 

Yoga Double Headers, David quickly learned, were _hard work._ Well, at least the first half was. For the first hour, Patrick led everyone through the most challenging class David had tried to date. Lots of saluting... _something_ , which involved a lot of pushups and downward dogs and planks before moving into lunges and balancing on one leg and even handstands at one point, which, David just watched. Supporting one’s weight with sweaty hands just seemed ill-advised, even as he watched lots of other students move upside-down quite easily. It was a little overwhelming, to be honest, and _a lot_ sweaty. But that was okay, because at several points during the class, Patrick came over to help him out—a gentle tap of his fingers encouraging David to relax his shoulder, moving his hips into better alignment during a lunge, running a soothing hand along his spine during a forward fold. Each time, he offered soft words of encouragement, gentle praise that motivated David to keep going when he got frustrated.

As challenging as that first hour was, David enjoyed those touches, those little moments when everyone else in the studio just faded away, and the world contracted down into a bubble between the two men, Patrick’s soft voice guiding him, his strong and sure hands electrifying where they touched. 

_Okay,_ David admitted to himself as he settled onto his back for savasana at the end of the first class. _I have a little crush on my cute yoga teacher. It’s not the end of the world._

After that class ended, the middle-aged woman leaned over to chat, considerately toweling off her hands before reaching one out toward David. “By the way, my name’s Pam. Are you new to the studio?” 

It took David a moment to register her voice, with his eyes trained on where Patrick was talking genially with a petite blonde woman. _She’s probably more his type, anyway._ “Oh, sorry. Yes, I’m new. David,” he hoped his face hadn’t betrayed his distaste as he took her hand. “Is it that obvious?” 

Pam laughed. “Just a little. You had that deer in the headlights look when we moved into handstand prep. Patrick likes to throw in challenge poses like that. Always keeps it interesting. It’s one of the reasons his vinyasa classes are always so packed.” 

“Ah,” was all David could think to say as he processed this new information—cute yoga teacher who’s into sports and athletic yoga poses. Probably had an instagram where he posts pictures of himself doing yoga in a ball caps or something. _Definitely not into someone like me._ “And...the other reason?” he asked, letting his gaze drift back toward Patrick. 

“Oh _honey,_ ” Pam just giggled, “I think you can figure out the second one for yourself.” She wagged her eyebrows toward where Patrick was now bending down to stack foam blocks on a low shelf. David just grinned back. “Good point.” 

“Of course, tonight was a first,” Pam continued, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen _Patrick_ sneaking looks at someone like that.” She let the words hang there between them while David’s brain sputtered to catch up. 

David stared at her like she’d just grown a second head. _Now_ _that would be a real double header_ , David thought, amusedly. “Wh-…I-uh…I don’t know what you, uh…” he stuttered, his ability to make coherent words happen having failed somewhere on the path between his brain and his mouth. 

Pam just shook her head kindly, with the sort of warmth David would expect from Jocelyn or Twyla. “I’ve been coming here for a while, now. I know what I’m talking about.” She finished rolling up her mat and gave David a wink. “Anyway, it was nice to meet you David. Hope to see you around soon!” 

David just smiled, shy and confused, waving as she walked away. _He’s a sporty, outgoing yoga guy,_ he thought, _he’s not into me._

But for a moment, as he nervously arranged his blocks to line up just so with the corners of his mat, he dared to hope that Pam was right. _That would be…nice.  
_

_***  
_

The second class, Restorative Yoga, was much more David’s speed, especially after all the exertion of the first hour. Once again, Patrick arranged David’s props for him, this time having him lie down, his head and spine resting on a rolled up blanket and knees propped up on the heavy bolster. And like he had the other night, once Patrick seemed satisfied that David was as supported by blocks and blankets as he possibly could be, he covered him up, leaving only his head peeking out from the colorful woven blanket. 

And just like the other night, David almost immediately fell into a restful _something_ , lulled by the singing bowls playing in the background, by Patrick’s soft voice as he spoke of breath and letting go and being in the moment. David could have _sworn_ he was awake the whole time; sworn he remembered listening to Patrick speak about moving into new positions and heard the students around him adjusting props and shifting around…but before he knew it, Patrick was chiming a bell and encouraging everyone to take three deep breaths, and David didn’t _want_ it to be over, he wanted to stay there for as long as Patrick would let him, but then everyone was sitting up and it was time to go. 

David took his time getting up and folding his blankets, only partially motivated by a desire to spend more time with Patrick one-on-one. He felt deliciously relaxed, his movements all slow and gooey, and honestly, he just didn’t want the feeling to go away. 

He was mid-stretch, yawning as he reached both arms toward the ceiling when Patrick called to him from the counter, “Did you enjoy your first yoga double feature _,_ David?” 

David glanced over his shoulder just in time to catch Patrick grinning like the cat who ate the canary. “I feel like you _think_ you’re mocking me,” he said, archly, “but all I’m hearing is you acknowledging my superior terminology.” He bent to collect his blocks, and flushed as he remembered what Pam had said, wondered if Patrick was checking _him_ out like he’d done to Patrick before class. His stomach fluttered at the thought. 

“You didn’t answer my question.” Patrick sauntered over to David’s corner and took the blocks from David’s hands. “I want to know what you think. And the snoring in the second class? Well, that could’ve been from boredom…” _Cocky motherfucker._

“Are you this much of a troll to all your clients?” David shot back. 

“Nope,” Patrick popped the ‘p’ and then bit down on his lower lip, “guess that makes you special.” And _holy fuck,_ David’s brain may have melted a bit. _Did he just look down at my mouth?_

“Lucky me.” Even though he tried to make it sound at least a _little_ snarky, in that moment, David was 100% sincere. Something about Patrick’s gentle, kind teasing…it just made David feel warm all over, made him feel _seen._

“So…will I see you on Saturday morning?” Patrick asked quietly, looking up at David with an intensity that zinged David somewhere in the vicinity of his heart. And, okay, his dick, too. 

“Yes,” David could feel himself getting lost in those soft, honey-brown eyes. _Okay, so maybe going full-on puppy dog crush was a little embarrassing._ He tried to shake it off, even though his cheeks were burning. “I mean…what’s Saturday morning?”

Patrick just chuckled. “Sunrise Vinyasa. So I’ll see you at 6?” 

_Holy motherfucking fuckity fuck._

“Okay, Patrick. See you Saturday.” 


	5. Sunrise Yoga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _The apocalypse was nigh, and it was taking the form of an insistent alarm. The world was going to be consumed, not by ice or fire, but by an obnoxious electronic beep. Why the fuck won’t it stop?_
> 
> David goes to Sunrise Yoga, and things heat up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know. David Rose is not a morning person, but Patrick... Suspend your disbelief for the sake of the AU, ok?

**_BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP_ **

The apocalypse was nigh, and it was taking the form of an insistent alarm. The world was going to be consumed, not by ice or fire, but by an obnoxious electronic beep. _Why the fuck won’t it stop?_

“Ugh, David,” Alexis groaned, “turn that _off!”_

“Fuck off, Alexis,” David mumbled, pulling his duvet over his head to hide from the alarm.

“ _Daaay-_ vid, _now!_ ” Alexis followed up her shrill growl ( _how the fuck does that even happen?_ ) by throwing as pillow, with surprising accuracy, at David’s head. 

“Oh my _god,_ Alexis! Lick a razor, please.”

_Fuck._

As he sat up to search out the source of that cursed alarm, possibly with the intent to throw Alexis’ phone at her, David remembered. _Oh yeah,_ he thought, _Sunrise Vinyasa with Patrick._ He felt a shiver run down his spine as he reached for his phone and silenced the alarm. 

David grabbed the clothes he’d wisely set out the night before and headed to the bathroom, doing his best to control the muscles of his face as he walked past Alexis’ bed, just on the off chance she chose to look at him. No need for her to see him _smiling_ after he’d gotten up, voluntarily, before daylight.

***

It’s not that David hadn’t experienced the world before the sun rose before. In his previous life, he’d often seen the predawn hours from the other side—partying, dancing, fucking until he’d pass out with the sunrise. But _this_? Something about this was just different. Foreign. New. 

_Peaceful._

David was used to the almost desperate quiet that came after the bustle of night in the city. There was a franticness to that quiet, though—the quiet of exhaustion, of coming down from the highs of the night, of knowing that no matter what, whoever was next to him when he passed out would be gone when he woke up. 

But as he drove along the deserted road from Schitt’s Creek toward Elmdale, David marveled at _this_ quiet. The world was different before dawn, in a way that he couldn’t quite figure out. He wasn’t sure, but David thought he might like it. Maybe.

When David arrived at the studio—a good ten minutes early, even, which made him puff up with pride—the door was still locked, even though there were lights shining from within. He went to knock, but stopped in his tracks at what he saw through the window. 

In the center of the practice space, Patrick was moving through a series of poses, some David recognized, most he didn’t, with the grace of…of a fucking graceful thing. David’s mind failed to supply an appropriate metaphor because Patrick was practicing yoga shirtless and suddenly David felt _very_ warm in his sweatshirt. 

He stood there, mesmerized, watching the muscles of Patrick’s back and legs and ass rippling as he moved through lunges and balances and at one point even fucking _jumped_ into a handstand, like gravity was a fucking optional thing, and suddenly, Sunrise Yoga was the best thing David could ever imagine. Well, except for maybe how those yoga muscles might translate into other activities. 

_Shit._ David dug his short nails into his palms, willing the beginnings of his erection to go away, at the _exact_ moment that Patrick turned and saw him at the door. But then Patrick was smiling at him, warm and wide and open and with _his whole goddamn face_ and somehow the syrupy warm feeling growing inside his ribcage distracted David from his dick, and he was smiling back. 

“You came!” Patrick’s smile turned smaller, more delicate as he unlocked and opened the door. “I wasn’t sure if you’d change your mind about getting up this early on a weekend.” 

“Generally speaking, I’m _not_ a morning person,” David said. “But I figured I should give one of these sunrise classes a try. For the full studio experience.” He shrugged, hoping like hell that he was coming across as blasé, and not as the clearly besotted schoolboy he felt like. Especially standing so close to Patrick, still shirtless, his chest and shoulders glistening from the sweat. God, David wanted to lick him. 

_Fuck._

Patrick ducked his head in that way David was coming to realize he did when he was being particularly cute, and maybe a little bashful, and rubbed across the short hair at his nape. “Um, well, I should probably let you know that we normally cancel the morning classes if there aren’t at least five people signed up in advance.” 

David could feel his face fall before he had the wherewithal to stop it, glancing around the empty studio. “Oh,” he said, his voice high and breathy as he tried to choke back his disappointment, “I guess I should go, then?” 

“Or you could stay?” Patrick had shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his navy shorts, his shoulders up near his ears as he looked up at David, eyes full of something that looked a lot like hope. “We could go through everything at your pace, maybe? Give you a chance to ask questions?” David remembered what Pam had said to him on Thursday. _“I’ve been coming here for a while, now. I know what I’m talking about.”_ And for that moment, he let himself believe she might be right.

“Okay, Patrick,” David demurred, “that sounds nice. Where should I put my mat?” 

***

They lost track of time as Patrick slowly guided David through a vinyasa flow suitable for beginners, with frequent stops for David to ask questions, for Patrick to make adjustments to get David into proper alignment, and, well, for some pure, unadulterated flirting. And, okay, maybe, maybe David _did_ start it—suggestively raising an eyebrow when Patrick wrapped a [ long cotton strap around his upper arms](https://youtu.be/3SAcRcPYBOw?t=43) when they worked through the different parts of a Sun Salutation—but Patrick didn’t seem to mind; if anything, that bright smile just got a bit wider, his cheeks a little rosier. 

There was no other way to describe it, really. Patrick was flirting with him, teasing him, and David made sure that he was giving just as good as he got. And it felt so light, so easy, so…just so _different_ from what David had come to expect from the world. _Nice._ David wasn’t used to _nice._ He wondered what life would be like for someone who got to have _nice._

 _Dammit_. He came to yoga because he needed to get out of his own fucked up head, and here he was, burrowing deeper into the chaos. David shook it off, noticed that Patrick was watching him, curious and quiet. 

“Where’d ya go just then?”

“Nowhere you’d like to visit,” David answered, frankly a little surprised at his own honesty. “Just got caught up in my head.” He lifted his arms overhead to mirror the shape Patrick was making. 

“I don’t know, sounds pretty nice to me,” Patrick murmured, bringing two fingers from each hand to rest on David’s shoulders, sliding from his neck out to encourage David to release the tension he was holding on to. “Just breathe and let the tops of your shoulders soften. Let go, David. Just let go.” Patrick whispered the words against the back of David’s neck. David shivered at the sensation of Patrick’s breath, hot against his skin, felt his knees go a little weak. 

“Patrick…” David began, his own voice little more than a whisper, but couldn’t find the words to continue, didn’t know what he wanted to say. No, he knew _exactly_ what he wanted to say. 

_Kiss me, Patrick._

_Touch me, Patrick._

_More._

“David—” Patrick replied, his voice gravelly and broken, just a split second before rough hands spun David around, took hold of either side of his face. “David,” he whimpered, looking up with eyes dark and seeking, “David, I…I want…I n-need—” and then he was pulling David down, crashing their mouths together, sliding his fingers through the back of David’s hair. David groaned into the kiss, quickly moving to slide his arms around Patrick’s broad, bare back, still slick with sweat. David nipped at Patrick’s bottom lip, teased it with the tip of his tongue until Patrick’s lips parted, allowing him to lick into his mouth. And _god_ was it glorious. 

David lost track of time as they stood there, hands and mouths exploring and possessing. He widened his stance when he felt Patrick getting hard against his thigh, slotting their legs together and groaning at the new friction when Patrick started to rock his hips against him. 

**_DING A DING_ **

“Oh, sorry Pat—” came a _very_ unwelcome voice from the door. Patrick practically leapt away at the intrusion, rushing to grab his shirt at from the corner of the room. David just stood there in confused silence, looking from Patrick to the intruder before settling his gaze (Patrick called that a _drishti_ earlier, his brain so helpfully supplied) on his mat. 

“Hey, Robin. We’re just finishing up here. Sorry about that,” Patrick sounded anxious, and that was…concerning. It’s not like she walked in on them _fucking_ or something. 

Unless, you know, the problem was that Patrick had gotten caught with _him._ That would definitely track. He was intimately familiar with that shame, with how it felt to be the dirty little secret, something to play with in the dark, away from anyone who mattered. Intimately familiar with the painful, inevitable rejection when someone better came along. But at least he usually got a good fuck out of the deal. Usually things didn’t move to rejection quite this quickly. 

David knew he was catastrophizing. He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip and tried to concentrate on his breathing. Slow and steady inhales and exhales, right? He watched Patrick move frenetically around the room, avoiding eye contact and sweeping nonexistent dust, and rolled up his mat. 

“I’ll just…I’m gonna go now,” David said, more to the room at large than to Patrick, who was still skittering around the room like a squirrel on speed, avoiding eye contact like David was fucking Medusa or something. 

“Have a great day,” the other teacher called from the back room as he left. 

_Well, that was…not what I expected._


	6. Yoga Buddies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Alright, then. So…a kiss happened; the guy panicked and ran away; and now you want me to come to a yoga class in Elmdale with you…to do what, exactly?_
> 
> -
> 
> David struggles in the aftermath of the kiss and needs reinforcements.

“So you kissed him and then he panicked?” Stevie sounded about as frustrated as David felt as she asked him, for the thousandth time, to explain what had transpired on Saturday morning. 

“No,” David huffed, “ _He_ kissed _me…_ and then the other teacher came in, and _then_ he panicked.” 

Stevie looked back to the computer screen, and if he didn’t know better David would’ve thought she was actually _working,_ and not just playing Spider Solitaire on the ancient machine. 

“I see.” She made one of those _faces_ , all raised eyebrows and opening those doe eyes wider than should be physically possible. “And you’re _sure_ he kissed _you?_ ” 

“Oh my _god!_ Yes, he kissed me. _He_ initiated it. I just…reciprocated? Um…enthusiastically,” he got quieter as he went along, and with each moment, found himself doubting his own take on the situation more intensely. David rested his elbows on the counter and cradled his head in his hands. Patrick _had_ reached for him, had kissed him, right? 

“Alright, then. So…a kiss happened; the guy panicked and ran away; and now you want me to come to a _yoga class in Elmdale_ with you…to do what, exactly?” 

David just rolled his eyes at her, unable to come up with a suitably biting rejoinder. It must be all the yoga making him soft. He was losing his edge. “Um, to be my _friend?_ And to show your support during my time of need?” he asked, archly, giving his head a tiny little shake as he spoke. 

“That’s all?” she eyed him suspiciously.

“Okay, and maybe you can get a read on him, too…like, for what his preferences are? I mean, that woman Pam said he was into me, but who the fuck is she? Like, did I just totally misread the situation, and he was doing some weird kind of yoga movement?” Everything came out rapidly, just a breathy string of word vomit as he suddenly feigned extreme interest in the empty wire business card holder by the monitor. 

“You’re paying, right?” And with that, David knew he’d won her over. 

“Yes.”

“And drinks, too?”

“Be more of a dick, please,” David fought the smile as he glanced up at her. She gave him the briefest of smiles, just a tiny quirk of the left side of her mouth, really. Just enough to let him know she had his back. 

“Then I’m in. Do you think Alexis will let me borrow her yoga mat?” 

***

“Oh my god; it’s the birthday clown all over again,” David buried his face into Stevie’s shoulder, half-wailing and half-whispering, later that evening as a buxom fifty-something brunette made her way to the front of the class. “Welcome, everyone! My name is Jessalyn, and I’m filling in for Patrick this evening.” The teacher chuckled at the disappointed sighs around the room. “I know, I know. Don’t worry, that cute little button will be back next week.” 

“So, do you think the teacher just ghosted the _whole class_ to avoid you?” Stevie spoke without affect, but David could tell that she was still doing that _thing_ with her eyebrows, even with his face still buried in flannel at her neck. “I’d say that ranks up there with that time Grant went to the bathroom and never came back. Clearly, we’re winners.” 

David laughed in spite of—or perhaps because of his mortification. “Some might go so far as to call us beloved.” 

“Obviously,” Stevie said. “But since the cute boy isn’t here, do we still have to stay for the class, or can we just skip ahead to drinking?”

David gave her a withering glare, and then focused his attention on Jessalyn. As he began to follow her guided breathing exercises, David swallowed his disappointment about Patrick and let himself be present in the moment. _I’m here for the yoga, anyway,_ he reminded himself. 

After class, they got drunk on polar bear shots at a crappy little bar just a short walk from the studio, trying to one-up each other with dating horror stories until they both collapsed into a giggling heap on the bar. By the time they’d found an Uber willing to make the drive all the way out to Schitt’s Creek, David had started to sober up—just enough to worry about the situation with Patrick, if not enough to safely operate a metal deathtrap. 

He spent the night curled up in Stevie’s bed, more restless than he’d been in the last week. 

*** 

The second week of David’s new student pass at Vishuddha lacked that… _something_ that he’d felt the first week, but he still found himself wanting to go to classes, even without the possibility of a certain teacher’s appearance. And, much to his surprise, Stevie sort of invited herself along with him for Deep Stretch on Tuesday night. 

“I mean, it was probably the shots, but I felt good after that last class.” She’d shrugged it off like going to yoga was just the sort of thing they _did_ together, like getting high and mocking Stevie’s cousins. 

As excited as David was at the prospect of having Stevie as a yoga buddy, he did _not_ appreciate her lackadaisical approach to things like class time. “We’re going to be late,” he hissed, speed-walking toward the door, “and they _lock you out_ if you’re late.” 

“You said it starts at 7:00,” Stevie called out from behind him, “we’ve got five minutes.” 

“But—” David realized before he said it that Stevie would laugh at him. _But I have to get there early enough to get my spot in the corner._ He just rolled his eyes and walked a little faster, refusing to look back to see her mocking him. 

They were both breathless when they got to the studio. And, as much as he wanted to be a dick at her, he held the door open while he waited for her to catch up. “Such chivalry,” she deadpanned as she ducked under his arm and walked inside.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” David’s stomach dropped at the sound of a familiar voice greeting Stevie, “I’m Patrick, and I’m subbing for Diane tonight.” 

“Hi _Patrick,_ ” Stevie practically cooed at him, the traitor. “I’m Stevie. Nice to meet you.” She looked to the door and twisted her mouth into a Cheshire Cat smile. 

Meanwhile, David was still standing outside the studio, holding on to the door, having a _fight-or-flight_ moment. Patrick hadn’t seen him yet; he could just run and hide at the bar from the other night. If he hadn’t left his wallet in Stevie’s car. Okay, maybe he could just go sit next to Stevie’s car while she was in class. 

That is, if the universe wasn’t shouting a big _Fuck You_ at him, he thought, as he felt the first splash of rain land on his cashmere sweater. 

_Fuck._

David closed his eyes and took in the biggest gulp of air he could manage. _I can do this. Just breathe._ He tried it again, breathing in to a count of four, and then breathing out to that same count. He rubbed at the tension forming above his eyebrows, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He took another couple breaths, and walked inside. 

“D-david,” Patrick stammered. “I didn’t see you on the roster tonight.”

“Sorry, I forgot to sign in before I came,” David said to the counter, his voice flat. “Is that a problem?” He wanted to look up at Patrick, but he was afraid of what he’d see. Regret. Embarrassment. Shame. He couldn’t bear it. 

“No, no problem. There’s plenty of room.” 

“Thanks,” David muttered, turning on his heel and looking for Stevie. 

_Double Fuck._ That traitor had taken his corner spot. David rolled his eyes as he stalked toward the storage unit at the wall. Thankfully, his favorite cubby was still available. He quickly removed his shoes and socks and shoved them in, and then removed his sweater and folded it carefully before placing it on top. 

“So, Patrick _,_ huh?” Stevie’s eyes twinkled as she sat all folded up on Alexis’ bright pink Girl Boss yoga mat. “You seem flustered.” 

“Shut up,” David was going for haughtily menacing, but his voice came out small and broken. Stevie noticed. She ran a soothing hand across his back. “Stop that,” David inhaled deeply. “If you’re nice to me I’ll cry, and I can’t get splotchy in front of him.” 

“Okay, David.” 

David lay back on his mat and closed his eyes against the tickle of tears starting to form. He took another deep breath in, and let it go. _I can do this._

“Welcome, everyone! For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Patrick and Vishuddha Yoga is my baby. Apologies for the last-minute change-up, but Diane’s daughter got sent home from school with a fever, so you’re stuck with me tonight.” The chuckles that spread through the room made it clear that nobody really minded the substitution. Okay, well, nobody _else_ minded it. Maybe David would’ve stayed home and asked if Stevie had any weed if he’d been aware of the change. 

Patrick’s voice was bright and lilting as he meandered through the rows of students, but this time, it didn’t warm David up from the inside; instead, he just felt empty. Like he was witnessing a performance clearly not meant for him. That empty feeling grew more intense as he watched Patrick assisting other students deepen into poses and remembered how it felt when he had run those strong hands up and down David’s back, pulling him close. He cringed when Patrick slid his palm down Stevie’s spine as she stood in a forward fold, then massaged the base of her neck with those thick fingers. 

He cringed even harder when he realized that Patrick was avoiding him completely, and began to keep his eyes closed tightly whenever he noticed Patrick heading toward his corner. Well, technically _Stevie’s_ corner tonight, but he was right next to her. _Was it really less than a week ago that Patrick had saved my place?_ David struggled with the anxious thoughts that just wouldn’t let up. _How did I fuck something up so badly before it even started?_

By the time Patrick started to talk everyone through setting up their props for a supported savasana, David had been counting the _seconds_ until he could leave. His whole body was thrumming, the anxiety almost overwhelming. He couldn’t keep still; the nervous energy needed to come out somehow. First, he balled his hands into tight fists, digging his nails into his palms, when he couldn’t stop tapping his fingers against the wooden floor; then, he found his entire legs started to shake. David tried to breathe; tried to count; tried to do all the tricks he’d been learning here and from Twyla, but none of it worked.

A hundred years later, it was finally over. He could hear Patrick guiding everyone through the slow wake up sequence thing, but front and center in David’s mind was the need to escape. _GET OUT NOW!_ He did his best to go through the motions as Patrick thanked everyone and said something inspiring and yada yada yada, and _finally,_ he chimed that stupid bell. David was on his feet and rolling his mat the second he heard it. He manhandled his sweater a bit to get it back on and shoved his feet into his shoes without tying them. 

“Meet you at the car,” he told Stevie, and rushed to the door, where, once again, he was reminded that the universe hated him. 

The rain was pouring down, more than enough to ruin cashmere. He blinked a few times, willed away the tears that were starting to form, and just stood at the door, hopelessly staring at the rain. 

“You okay?” Stevie was moving with syrupy slowness of someone who’d just enjoyed their yoga class when David desperately needed her to be her typically brusque self. 

“I don’t have an umbrella and this sweater needs to _not_ get soaked,” David started, “so could you maybe get the car and pick me up?” He chewed at his bottom lip some more. _Fast, please_ , he left unsaid. _Teleportation right now would be best._

God bless her, Stevie was a good friend. She handed David Alexis’ mat and was out the door a moment later. He owed her a nice bottle of wine for this one. 

David scanned the room in the reflection from the window and saw Patrick deep in conversation with someone near the back of the room. _Perfect._ He quickly slipped into the washroom and fired off a message. 

**ME [8:21 PM]** I’m hiding in the washroom until you’re outside, k?   
**ME [8:22 PM]** txt me when you get here  
Stevie is typing…

This was a totally mature and responsible way to handle an awkward situation, right? Well, at the very least, it was better than getting things messy with a confrontation. 

**STEVIE [8:26 PM]** waiting outside  
 **STEVIE [8:26 PM]** u should talk to him  
 **STEVIE [8:26 PM]** coward

And, well, _that_ was certainly not going to happen. David opened the door as quietly as possible, glanced around for any signs of Patrick ( _finally,_ _something has gone my way_ ), and made a dash for the front door, holding the Girl Boss mat over his head and hoping like hell it wasn’t too windy. 

It wasn’t until after Stevie had dropped him back at the motel, after he’d plugged his phone in to charge, that David realized what he’d done. When his phone buzzed back to life, he had several messages waiting for him. 

**(548) 555-0142 [8:41 PM]** Hi David, this is Patrick Brewer from Vishuddha Yoga. You left your yoga mat at the studio this evening. It’s in the back closet with lost and found the next time you come in.   
**(548) 555-0142 [8:44 PM]** It was good to see you tonight.   
**(548) 555-0142 [8:46 PM]** Keep practicing. 🙏

A rookie desperation move extraordinaire. And it wasn’t even intentional. 

_Well, shit._


	7. Deep Stretch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David keeps practicing, and the universe keeps throwing Patrick Brewer in his face. That's probably a sign of some sort.

David had to admit that the yoga helped. Helped enough that he pushed past his own mortification about the Patrick Incident (ok, so _incidents_ , David realized) to go back to Vishuddha, several times a week. If those times happened to be the middle of the day on weekdays? Well, that was just a coincidence that had nothing to do with the fact that he’d learned Patrick had, like, a regular _office_ day job. 

And who knows, he thought idly, maybe when enough time passes, this can just be an amusing anecdote in his anthology of fucked up relationships. _Remember that time the yoga teacher ghosted his whole class to avoid me?_

That is, if Stevie and Pam would ever stop needling him enough to let the wound actually _heal._ Stevie managed to convince him to come with her to Deep Stretch on Tuesday nights, and more often than not, they’d find Pam waiting in their little corner before class started. David would probably have been grumpier about the teasing if they didn’t always give him his favorite corner spot. He was nothing if not a creature of habit. 

Stevie was a fucking broken record, telling him that he should just try to talk to Patrick. As if mature conversation had ever been his modus operandi. And Pam wouldn’t shut up about Patrick’s _puppy dog eyes,_ like _that_ was something David needed to be reminded of. 

“Look, I can say based on pretty solid evidence that he’s just _not_ into me.” 

“I don’t know,” Stevie began, elbowing him in the ribs, “the way he was eye-fucking you that night he subbed for Diane would suggest otherwise.” 

David glared at her. “Oh, you mean the night night he practically jumped to avoid any interaction with me me at all?” 

Stevie just shrugged, turning her attention to Pam. “I know what I saw.” 

“Oh, I remember it well. He looked at David like a fucking gourmet _meal_ the night we met,” Pam laughed. “And the past couple classes, he’s just made a cartoon sad face when he looks at David’s corner.”

“Okay, I want you both to know that I’m feeling really attacked right now, and I don’t need this sort of harassment from my so-called _friends._ ” David sighed dramatically and reclined on his bolster, then closed his eyes and tried to focus on his breathing until class started. 

He allowed himself to get lost in the low, soothing tones of the singing bowls coming through the speaker mounted in the corner above him, and let his breath begin to deepen. David got so caught up in the moment that he didn’t even mind the last-minute shuffling as some inconsiderate latecomer set up their mat in front of him. Instead, he just allowed himself to enjoy the stillness, holding his position even after Diane chimed the bell signaling the beginning of class. 

“Welcome to Deep Stretch, everybody! For any new faces tonight, my name is Diane, and I’m gonna be leading you through your practice tonight. And that cutie over there— _wave to everybody, Patrick_ —is Patrick, the studio owner.” 

David’s eyes flew open to see a pale blue tech shirt stretched taut across the familiar planes of Patrick’s broad back, only a couple feet in front of him. This is not fucking _fair._ He cut his eyes over past Stevie to Pam, who had apparently moved from her spot in front of David just to ruin his fucking _life._ Or at the very least, his fucking practice for the evening.

She just blew him a kiss and giggled with Stevie, who leaned over and whispered, “I like this for you.” David felt his jaw clench, and that familiar tension spreading across his brows and around the base of his skull. He rolled his eyes at them.

_Fuck these traitors._

Somehow, David managed to survive the next 75 minutes of torture. He wasn’t sure what was worse, watching Patrick’s muscles flex and ripple as Diane led the class through a series of standing postures and lunges, or having to do it knowing that Stevie and Pam were laser-focused on his unfortunately over-expressive face. 

When he settled onto his back for savasana, David felt like he was finally able to let go of the breath he’d been holding, the tension that had been coursing through his body the whole class. He was relieved, if a little sad. Overwhelmed, even. Patrick hadn’t even acknowledged him during the whole class. That stung. 

David wasn’t surprised by the prickle of tears starting behind his eyes; he was a crier, and he’d always _been_ a crier. He was, however, surprised by their intensity. It hit him like a freight train, all at once—one second he felt a twinge of sadness, the next he was choking back the sobs. _Not a cute look, David._ His whole body shook as he lay there, crying silently, mourning a relationship that never even started like it was something that actually mattered.

When Diane pressed a cool, lavender-scented cloth over his eyes, David had never felt so grateful. “Stay here for as long as you need, sweetie,” she whispered into his ear, giving his shoulder a gentle, soothing squeeze. He took her words at face value, and allowed himself to lie there, still and quiet, until the tears had stopped. 

The studio was nearly empty when he sat up; Stevie was sitting on the bench by the front door while Diane swept the studio floor around him. Patrick was nowhere to be found. 

“Just so you know, that happens sometimes. So no need to panic about it, okay?” Diane’s voice was kind and knowing. “I’ve been there, and it’s always better to let that stuff out than to keep it bottled up.” She gave him a soft smile and asked if he’d accept a hug.

“Yes, please.” David let himself melt into her arms, where they stayed for what was probably longer than normal, but it didn’t matter. It felt good to be comforted. “Thank you, Diane.” 

“Of course, sweetie. I’ll see you next week?” 

“Yup.” 

“Alright. Drive safe, y’all!” 

***

Maybe things were looking up after all, David thought as he moved through his skincare routine, feeling lighter after letting out all of that… _whatever it was_ during savasana. Maybe yoga was helping him let go of more shit than he’d realized. David drifted to sleep that night feeling different, feeling hopeful, even. 


	8. It's a General Store...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Because the lease is yours, David, if you still want it._  
>  -  
> We're weaving back into canon as David contemplates opening a general, but very specific, store.

“I _told_ you that I thought it was a good idea,” Stevie gave an exasperated huff as she tugged the corner of the sheet. “Like, a thousand times. And _you_ said you were going to help me here?” 

David eyed the cleaning cart suspiciously, then grabbed a couple of towels. “I _am_ helping. See?” He took them to the bathroom and returned, grimacing, holding the soiled towels by their corners, at arm’s length to avoid possible contamination by whatever flesh-eating virus the room’s previous guests might have infected them with. 

Stevie stood up and put her hands on her hips, watching in bemusement as David dropped the towels into the laundry bag. “Such generosity.” 

“Can we focus, please?” David’s aloof sarcasm faltered, giving way to something much more vulnerable that had been lurking beneath the surface, “Do you really think I can do this?” He dropped his gaze down toward the floor as he spoke, grimacing partially as a response to the gross, stained carpet, but mostly out of fear of what she might say. Because both possible answers were terrifying in their own ways. 

Stevie crossed her arms over her chest, cocked her head to the side, and eyed him appraisingly, “I think you should go for it.”

“Oh my god,” David whispered, feeling a thrill of anticipation, anxiety running all through his body. “I think I’m gonna do it.” 

“Good,” Stevie replied, quirking the corner of her mouth into the barest suggestion of a smile. “It’s gonna be great.” 

***

Or, maybe not.

_“And who do you think bought all that art, and sold out all your shows?”_

David felt numb. For the first time since moving to this godforsaken nowhere of a town, he’d felt...cautiously optimistic. Like he was on the cusp of creating something beautiful, worthy. Something _his,_ something he could take pride in. 

_“And who do you think bought all your patrons?”_

It was all a lie. His whole professional career was nothing but a sham, nothing more than Johnny and Moira Rose indulging their child in his silly little art thing. David knew he shouldn’t be so surprised; after all, he’d seen them do the same with Alexis and her reality show and her brief stint as a Pussycat Doll. 

But this? It felt different than that. Alexis had never really worked for those things they handed her. They indulged her whims; she decided to be a pop star one Tuesday and by Thursday she was in the studio. But David had studied; he’d interned; he’d gone about it the way he was supposed to. He _knew_ art. And he thought he’d known what he needed to do to run a successful gallery. He had actually _worked_ for that success, and they hadn’t even given him the chance to achieve it. 

It was too much. Was that really all they thought of him? 

The anxiety was threatening to swallow him whole. David knew what he needed, so he grabbed the keys to the Lincoln and headed out. His brain was on autopilot as he made the now-familiar drive. By the time he was pulling into the parking lot, the ice-cold sense of dread that had his whole chest in a vise grip had started to loosen up, if only slightly. And when he walked up to the blue lettered sign above the door, he felt his shoulders start to soften. 

_I need this._

“Um…hi, David,” a familiar voice called from the back of the studio. 

“Hey, Patrick,” he inhaled deeply, bracing himself for whatever awkwardness was sure to follow. But right now, his frustration was at capacity; he just didn’t have the emotional energy to worry about a stupid crush in the face of learning his whole career had been a lie. He removed his shoes, quickly signed himself into class on the iPad at the counter, and then headed for his corner to roll out his mat. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you in class. H-how have you been?” Patrick was giving him a look that David couldn’t quite identify. And honestly, he really didn’t feel like having this conversation at the moment. David rubbed above his eyebrows, trying to massage away what felt like permanent knots of tension. He just needed to get out of his own head for a while. 

“Not really a good time to ask that question,” he muttered, a bit sharper than Patrick probably deserved. “I kind of need to not talk right now?” David reclined over his bolster and closed his eyes before Patrick had the chance to respond. 

“Okay, David. I’ll let you settle in.” David tried not to think about what Patrick’s wide, earnest eyes might be doing as he spoke, his voice all small and uncertain. He heard Patrick inhale deeply before he continued, “It’s good to see you again.” _And yeah,_ David thought to himself as he squeezed his eyes even tighter, _that’s totally unfair, Brewer. You can’t sound like that when you’re the one who pulled back._

Maybe this was a mistake. David felt a thousand anxieties from the day bubbling up to the surface and felt like he needed to do _something…_ to run away, steal a truck and head for the nearest Amish farm or something. 

_No. You need this. Just breathe._

David took a deep breath in and let it go slowly, allowing the vetiver and wild orange scent wafting from the diffuser to wash over him. He let the now-familiar sound of the singing bowls envelop him, and continued to focus on breathing, slow and steady. 

Ninety minutes later, David knew he’d made the right decision. Although his parents’ misguided attempts at support still stung, the yoga class had helped stopped the anxiety spiral, so he was no longer catastrophizing. At least not about the store. The jury was still out on the… _whatever_ the fuck was happening with a certain cute yoga instructor. But that would have to be a spiral for another fucking time and place, because right now, David needed to get back to Schitt’s Creek and talk to Stevie. After Patrick signaled the end of class, David gathered his stuff and hurried to the door, nearly knocking Patrick over in his rush.

“Sorry, sorry” he stuttered, “um…I gotta go.” He slipped his coat and boots on as quickly as possible, deliberately avoiding Patrick’s gaze as he did. As he turned the handle on the door, though, David hazarded a glance back and felt his stomach knot at the wistful look on Patrick’s face. _Fuck._

“It was good to see you, too. Thanks for class. I needed that.” And with that, he scurried away.

*** 

_“Because the lease is yours, David, if you still want it.”_

David wanted it. It scared him how much he wanted it, especially now, after learning the truth about his galleries. He didn’t want to fail, and he was terrified that he didn’t have what it would take to succeed. 

That doubt would have been all that Old David needed to give up, to stop before he even tried. Old David never wanted to take a risk at something that might fail. And even though he didn’t quite realize the extent of their involvement with his galleries, he’d still always known that his parents would be there to bail him out if he needed it. They’d always been his safety net. 

But…that’s not who he was now. That David was a relic, a memory of a time that didn’t quite seem real any more. And this time, he would be venturing out completely on his own. 

The thought terrified him. Thrilled him. 

_Maybe this time I’ll win…_


	9. B13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _David couldn’t help checking him out, synthetic blend shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, tucked into jeans that had no business being as fucking sexy as they were. That ass. This man somehow made an accountant’s business casual wardrobe look good._  
>  -  
> Oh hey, guess who David runs into at Ray's? What a coincidence!

The scary thing about operating without a safety net, of course, was that every fucking step in this whole process was one more way that David could crash and burn. At least any possible failure wouldn’t be happening on Page Six, though; if he failed with this business venture, the humiliation would be somewhat contained within the town limits of Schitt’s Creek. Not that the prospect of Roland Schitt taunting him for years to come filled David with hope, _per se,_ but just one Roland beat the hell out of the alternative. 

Of course, he really didn’t want this to fail. He tried to focus on the positive and manifest success and all that shit instead. 

David stood outside the door of Ray Butani’s office (and possibly his house, too, but David wasn’t really sure) for what felt like an eternity, working up the courage to walk inside. 

_Deep breaths. You can do this._

He opened the door to find an exuberant Ray taking photos of a very confused couple. “Okay, look at her, and look at me,” he encouraged the baffled man staring blankly at him, “that’s good…closer!” 

Well, David cringed as he watched this bargain bin J.C. Penny photoshoot unfold, this was a new depth of _what the fuck._ He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, steeling himself for an encounter with one of Schitt’s Creek’s most effusive residents. 

“Yeah,” he began, trying to mask the irritation threatening to overtake him, “we had an appointment this morning?” 

Ray’s focus finally shifted from the couple; he reached to pull a deli ticket from the wall and handed it to David. “Uh remind me, are you here for a photo series, or travel planning, or our newest service, closet organization?” 

“Um, I'm here to file my incorporation papers for my business.” 

“Oh, that's right,” at that point, Ray lost all semblance of interest in the conversation with David. “Patrick!” Ray called out to the room, “Uh, B13!” 

If that wasn’t the most obnoxious of coinci—

David begged the universe to swallow him up right now. _Was I fucking spin instructor in a past life?_

_Shit._

How did he manage to look even hotter in a fucking Oxford shirt and Levis? Maybe it was because David had seen and felt exactly what those two open buttons at the top of the shirt were teasing.

_Of course it couldn’t just be easy._

“Uh, this is for you...uh, Patrick,” David handed Patrick the ticket, his mouth suddenly going all dry. And as much as he tried to rein it in, he was pretty certain his face was doing one of what Alexis called his face journeys. 

“David,” Patrick’s eyes were warm and open as reached for the ticket and then offered his hand to David, “David Rose, you bought the General Store.” 

“Leased. Leased the General Store, yeah,” for some reason David felt the need to clarify that detail. It seemed important for Patrick to know, somehow. 

“That’s a big deal.” 

“Is it?” David felt the tension bubbling up in his stomach as Patrick spoke. Suddenly everything seemed just a little more out of reach. He didn’t want Patrick to say that. He didn’t want it to be a big deal. 

“Yeah it’s pretty big,” Patrick was smiling at him, playful and encouraging, but outside the context of the studio, it just caught David off-guard. He wished he was wearing a thicker sweater. “Yeah, you wanna have a seat?” Patrick gestured to the chairs in front of his desk and walked to take a seat behind it. 

_I can do this,_ David thought to himself as he took a seat. 

***

“So the cute yoga teacher with the puppy dog eyes told you your business was a failure?” Stevie’s forehead wrinkled in disbelief. 

“Basically, yeah.” 

“Oh, well what did he say?”

“He told me to come back to him once I had a clearer idea of what my business was.” 

“And _then_ he told you it was a _failure_?” 

“Well, no, not like…not exactly.” 

“I’m sorry. I’m just trying to figure out when he called your business a failure.” 

“Okay, maybe he _didn't_ call my business a _failure,_ but it was _insinuated_.” The more Stevie pressed him, the more David realized that he may have been projecting, but given the circumstances, it seemed more than appropriate. 

“So you know that I think your business is a good idea, and you know that I mean that, because I'm incapable of faking sincerity,” Stevie paused as she tucked the corner of the sheet under the mattress, “I'm also just incapable of sincerity in general.” 

“Okay, you know what, I'm going through it right now, and I actually think that _I_ might've been the one that insinuated that my business was a failure,” David admitted. 

“Wait, you blew something out of proportion?” she teased, her face a picture of mock guilelessness. 

“No, what if he's right? I am sitting on a big, empty space, and I couldn't even tell him what I wanted to do with it!” David felt the anxiety bubbling up to the surface. 

“You're freaking out,” Stevie cut him off with a pointed glare, “because you _know_ what you wanna do with your business, you have walked me through it one too many times…so he was _probably_ just trying to help.” 

“No, I mean, he was very snippy,” and maybe he was grasping at straws, but after all, in his defense, Patrick had a record for sending him pretty mixed signals. 

“Okay,” Stevie sighed, her frustration at David’s histrionics clearly visible. She pulled a joint out of her pocket. “I found this under the bed in room 2, so do you wanna take a break?” 

Given the current source of his frustration, David knew that heading off to yoga wasn’t going to help him settle down, but this? Yeah, this would work. 

“That’s disgusting! Uh, and yes.” David reached for the joint. 

Hours later, David’s eyes were itchy; he felt like he’d fallen face first into a sandbox; and he was realizing that maybe it hadn’t been the best idea to call Patrick while he was stoned. _Did I really just say ‘ciao’?_ David thought to himself as he ended the call. 

It certainly hadn’t been wise to try to fill out the stupid incorporation paperwork. He stared down at the form Patrick had given him earlier that morning, now covered in doodles over where he’d at least _attempted_ to start answering the questions. Granted, the roses he’d sketched were aesthetically pleasing—maybe something he could use in a logo, even—but still. Ugh. He was going to need new forms, which meant another trip to Ray’s. 

_Shit._ He noticed a small heart at the bottom corner of the page, with _DR + PB_ in the center. _What in the actual fuck?_

***

For the second time that day, David steeled himself outside Ray’s door, once again psyching himself to cross that threshold. Only this time, it was worse, because it wasn’t just some chatty townie on the other side of that door. David shook his head, as if that could clear the image of Patrick, covered in sweat and wearing nothing but a pair of sinfully short shorts from his head, like he was an etch-a-sketch, and walked inside, where he was greeted with Patrick’s backside. 

_Fuck._ David couldn’t help checking him out, synthetic blend shirt stretched taut across his shoulders, tucked into jeans that had no business being as fucking sexy as they were. _That ass._ This man somehow made an accountant’s business casual wardrobe look good. 

_You can do this. Just breathe._

“Hi…um, I messed up my form, and I’m gonna need another one from you.” 

“Oh, okay,” Patrick grinned softly. 

David felt his anxiety taking physical form in his stomach as he willed himself not to panic at that tone, or that expression. “What?” 

_“_ Nothing. I'm just uh, I'm so glad you made such good use of my business card,” Patrick teased. _Fuck._ David opened his mouth to respond, but Patrick continued before he had the chance to speak. “The messages you left were very helpful, actually. I was able to use them to fill out most of the forms for you. It’s a good idea, your business.” 

“Thanks?” David gave a slightly confused shake of his head. 

Patrick’s sucked in a quick breath and turned his face down toward the floor. “But…I,” he started, glancing back up at David through long, golden lashes. “I’d like to go over that information with you in a bit more depth before you submit everything to the ministry. Would you be able to do that tonight?”

David’s brow furrowed in confusion; that…was _not_ what he was expecting to hear. “Um, okay?” He hoped that his face wasn’t giving away everything at the moment. _What’s the catch?_

Patrick smiled—this soft, upside-down smile that David wanted to kiss right off of his face—before he continued, sounding much more hesitant, “You ever tried the Cafe Tropical? I've heard people raving about how moderately edible the food is there.”

“Well, yes,” David wasn’t sure where this was headed. 

“We could…we could go for and early dinner, talk through your paperwork there? My treat.”

 _Oh god._ David felt himself start to spiral. _He really is going to tell me my business is a failure. Or worse._

“You don't have to do that,” David felt his voice quaver as he spoke and could tell by Patrick’s expression that his face was showing the panic bubbling up. “We can do that here.” 

“No, I…I’d like to,” Patrick pursed his lips, looked at David with that same fond expression he’d given him as the sun rose that Saturday morning at the studio. “There’s other stuff that…um, that I’d like to talk to you about, too.” 

David blinked a few times and chewed idly on his bottom lip, trying to shake off that sense of impending doom. “Okay, Patrick.” For a split second, it looked like Patrick eyes flickered to David’s mouth. 

“Let me just take care of a few things here, and I’ll meet you at the cafe. Let’s say 6 o’clock?” 

“See you then,” As David turned toward the door, his stomach began to flutter from something entirely different than business-related panic.

“Ciao!” Ray called after him. 

And just like that, the business anxiety was back. 

_Fuck._

_***_

With about an hour to kill before his date (not date, his purely professional _business meeting_ ) with Patrick at Cafe Tropical, David headed back to the old general store. To _his_ store. 

_Rose Apothecary._ Maybe. He was still oscillating. Would the people of Schitt’s Creek and the surrounding Elms find that too pretentious? Did that even matter? Old David wouldn’t have given a rat’s ass about what the people in this town thought. Old David didn’t really care about much of anything.

But now? David wanted this place to succeed. He wanted to prove to his parents—prove to _himself—_ that he could do this. 

He checked his phone. Forty-seven minutes til 6 pm. 

David walked the perimeter of the empty storefront, mapping out the distance according to his size 10 Rick Owens Geobaskets high tops. Just over twenty-five paces, toe to heel, across the room at the front windows; almost thirty-two steps at the longest part from the front windows to back wall. He returned to the old counter left by the previous tenants and then jotted down the numbers in his moleskin journal. 

He checked his phone again. Thirty-four minutes to go. 

David took a grounding breath and started idly sketching, filling in the blank spaces around where he’d written what he realized were absolutely useless numbers on the page—small succulents in the sun-drenched front windows displayed on some sort of upcycled vintage shelving unit; different possible ways to showcase alpaca throws from that co-op outside Elmdale; several different stylized roses that might work for a logo…as he filled page after page, he allowed himself to get lost in the possibility of the space, the potential to create something beautiful, something uniquely _his_. 

David felt the hand on his shoulder before he could process that someone was saying his name. “What the _fuck?_ ” he yelled as he stood—well, okay, maybe _jumped_ —upright and spun on his heels to see Patrick, a flush spreading across his cheeks. 

“Um, sorry about that,” Patrick ducked his head as he spoke, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his Levis, causing his shoulders to hunch up toward his ears. “I didn’t mean to startle you, but the door wasn’t locked, and, um, well, you didn’t answer the first few times I said your name.” 

“Oh,” David grimaced, “I’m sorry. I…uh, I was…um…when I’m hyper-focused on something, I can, um…lose track of what’s going on around me?” 

“Noted,” Patrick smiled, sort of. “So, uh, I take it you forgot we were meeting at 6?” His face was doing… _something._ David couldn’t figure it out. Was he angry? Upset? Exasperated at David’s behavior? David’s money was on the latter. 

“What? No! I just came in here to do a little planning because I had some time before—” David checked his phone. 6:17pm? How the fuck did that happen? “Oh my _god!_ I’m so sorry. I really didn’t mean to be late.” David shrugged his shoulders up toward his ears, squeezed his eyes shut and tried to will himself to just disappear. He peeked one eye open, and saw Patrick’s face had softened into something almost fond. 

“So…um, do you still want to talk? O-over dinner?” Patrick’s hands were still spelunking in the caverns of mid-range denim, his barely there eyebrows headed toward his hairline. David felt something inside him start to heat up, as if to melt that carefully constructed wall of ice he’d built inside his chest. 

David smiled shyly as he closed his journal and slid it into his pocket. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The measurements David takes are accurate, for the record.


	10. It's a Date, Isn't It?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _They’d been sitting there for at least a decade (ok, maybe 3 minutes) in complete, awkward silence, since Twyla had taken their drink orders. Someone was going to have to break first. David didn’t want it to be him. He knew it would be him._  
>  -  
> David and Patrick have a meal at Cafe Tropical that is 100% without a doubt _just_ business. Or is it?

Sitting across from Patrick under the awful fluorescent lights of the Cafe Tropical, David could feel his heart pounding, hear the blood pulsing to its too-fast rhythm inside his head. There were about a thousand thoughts too many swirling around his mind at the moment, and he couldn’t quite figure out how to get things to settle. 

Fortunately for him, Patrick didn’t appear to notice because he seemed to be struggling just to make occasional eye contact with David. Which, of course, David immediately interpreted in about a hundred ways, none of which came out to his advantage. 

They’d been sitting there for at least a decade (ok, maybe 3 minutes) in complete, awkward silence, since Twyla had taken their drink orders. Someone was going to have to break first. David didn’t want it to be him. He knew it would be him.

“So,” he started, nervously chewing on the inside of his lip, “you wanted to get more information for my incorporation paperwork?” 

Patrick’s demeanor shifted as David spoke; apparently, getting down to brass tacks (David made a mental note to google what the fuck that meant when he had chance) about the business paperwork was all Patrick needed to lose the awkwardness about the…whatever the fuck it was between them. 

“You know, the good thing about the messages—all nine of them,” he smiled as David winced at the memory, “was that I was able to get enough information to fill out your forms.” Patrick reached into his messenger bag and pulled out a folder, then slid it over to David. “It's a good idea, your business. Re-branding local products and crafts, it's very inventive.” 

David felt the warmth blooming from deep inside his chest at the compliment; he could tell his face was probably doing something utterly dopey, just based on Patrick’s expression, but somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to care. _He said it’s a good idea!_

“Thanks.” David smiled nervously at Patrick, which apparently was all the motivation he needed to keep talking.

“And I like the name,” Patrick grinned, then gestured toward an imaginary sign in the air, “Rose Apothecary…you know, it's just pretentious enough.” He gave David an unfairly adorable half-wink. 

David narrowed his own eyes, not quite sure if he was doing so in mock or _actual_ irritation. “Would we call that pretentious, or...timeless?” He bristled at Patrick’s mockery, but it was a soft bristle, mohair rather than boar, because Patrick’s teasing was wrapped in this golden warmth that made David feel safe, content enough to volley back. 

“Anyway,” Patrick continued, “That’s your copy; I’ll go ahead and submit everything electronically for you.” 

“Oh,” for all the catastrophizing scenarios he’d played out in his head, David hadn’t expected that. “Um, well, thank you…um, for doing that.” David smiled softly at the man across the table who continued to confuse the ever-loving fuck out of him. 

Before either could continue, though, Twyla returned with their drinks. “Ready to order your meals, guys?” 

***

After they’d ordered, David waited. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was waiting for Patrick to say or do, but…here they were. He sat and watched in silence as Patrick slowly peeled the label off his beer, and then began to tear the label into pieces. 

“You seem...like you have something on your mind?” David prodded, as gently as he could manage, because this was getting a little ridiculous. It’s not like Patrick even had to dump him, after all. 

Patrick finally broke his attention away from the bits of label and rubbed the back of his head as he looked up at David through long, pale lashes. “I...I wanted to apologize to you,” he said.

David tried to play it off, loosely waving a hand as he shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“No,” Patrick protested, his voice firmer than David had ever heard before, “I was out of line.” 

“It’s okay, really,” David stammered, even though he really didn’t believe it. “I get it,” he shrugged, and took another sip of his drink. 

“But...I don’t think you do.” Why was Patrick pressing this so much? As though the rejection wasn’t humiliating enough without him wanting to fucking _explain_ it over dinner at the cafe. 

“Look, Patrick, I don’t need a postmortem on one kiss,” David felt his voice going shrill, and glanced around nervously to check that no one had started listening in before he lowered his volume to barely more than a whisper. “It happened; you regret that it happened; fine, I’ll deal. It is what it is, okay?” God, why was Patrick still looking at him like that? This was fucking hard enough to sit through without those goddamn puppy dog eyes. 

“D-do you regret that it happened?” Patrick whispered, and fuck if it didn’t look like he was about to cry. 

“Why does it even matter what I think? We kissed, then you ran the fuck away and have avoided me ever since. I think I got the message.” _Goddammit._ David felt his eyes starting to burn, and he absolutely refused to do something as incorrect as cry in the middle of the cafe. 

“Hi, guys!” Twyla somehow always had the ability to pop up at the worst possible moment. Stevie once mentioned something about her family being witches or something; maybe that was Twyla’s special brand of mediocre magic. “Your meals will be ready soon, but I wanted to bring you these mozzarella sticks as a starter. We had a bit of a malfunction in the back and needed to clear out the freezer in a hurry.” She smiled brightly as she spoke, oblivious to the tension crackling between the two of them, and set the plate on the table between them, “Enjoy!” 

“I don’t regret kissing you, David,” Patrick said after she walked away. His voice was quiet but firm as he lifted his chin so he could meet David’s attempt at a withering glare head on. “I wanted that, _had_ wanted that since that first night you came to my class.” He dropped his gaze toward the gooey pile of cheese between them, his voice cracking as he continued, “I only regret that I messed things up by how I did it.” 

_What the fuck?_ David felt his brain trying to do too many things at once and knew his face was probably doing the same thing. Everything started to feel like too much _. David Rose has officially reached the maximum number of emotions he can experience for one day, thank you very much. Kindly direct all remaining emotional breakthroughs elsewhere until further notice._ David closed his eyes, shook his head, tried to take a deep breath and allow things to settle. It didn’t work. His ears were ringing, and the world suddenly felt a little blurry around the edges. Too much. 

“Breathe, David,” he could hear someone giving him instructions from a distance. “Breathe in to a count of four. One, two, three, four.” David worked to match his breath to the counting. “Good. Now breathe out. See if you can slow down your exhale to a count of five. One, two, three, four, five. That’s it, David.” 

After a few more rounds, the chatter in his mind had quieted; his heart rate had slowed to something closer to that of an actual human rather than a rabbit’s; and when he opened his eyes, he realized that the comforting warmth that had wrapped around him when he started the breathing exercise was Patrick, now sitting close beside him, rubbing his back and uttering gentle instructions and praise in his ear.

“There he is,” Patrick murmured, his hand continuing to drag slow and steady across David’s upper back. “How are you feeling?”

“S-sorry about that,” David mumbled, more to his lap than anything. “I...uh, I sometimes get panic attacks. And today...today has kind of been a lot.”

“Oh,” Patrick managed to choke out, “I’m sorry I added to the stress.” He began to slide away, and David immediately missed the warmth, the intimacy of Patrick’s thigh against his own.

“Don’t go,” David hesitated, desperately afraid in the moment that…well, afraid that Patrick would leave, but also afraid that he might stay. He wasn’t sure which scared him more. He allowed himself to melt a little more into the sensation of Patrick’s hand on his back. 

“Okay, David.” 

“It’s why I started coming to yoga. The panic attacks,” David confessed, his voice a tiny, delicate thing. “It helps…a lot. So, uh, thank you for that.” 

Patrick’s gaze softened, and he quirked one corner of his mouth into a pensive smile. “Thank you for sharing that with me. I’ve missed seeing you, you know.” 

“Now that I’ve humiliated myself with all this,” David tugged at the collar of his sweater and grimaced, “honest human emotion…um, could—could you maybe tell me…uh, explain what you were starting to say?” 

Patrick took a few cleansing breaths of his own, opened his mouth, and—

“Alright! I’ve got a tuna melt with fries…oh, are you going to be sitting there now?” Twyla Sands, emotional cockblock extraordinaire, smiled that bright and utterly guileless smile as she waited for Patrick’s response.

“No, over there is fine,” Patrick gave David a sheepish shrug and slid out of the booth, standing behind Twyla as she put the plates down on the table. 

“And David, here’s your cheeseburger with fries and a side of potato salad…do you guys need anything else while I’m here? Another round of drinks or anything?”

Both men spoke at the same time. “I’ll have a glass of ice water—” David started, as Patrick asked, “Another beer, please?” They smiled awkwardly at each other; Patrick broke eye contact first, looking down at his plate. 

“Got it. Beer and water. Be right back!” Twyla trotted off toward the kitchen, still blissfully oblivious to the… _whatever_ it was sparking between them. 

“So,” Patrick made an adorable scrunched up face as he took a tentative breath, “maybe we can eat, and then talk?” 

David narrowed his eyes, unable to contain the little half-grin blooming from the left side of his face. “You’re lucky I’m hungry, Brewer.” 

Patrick chuckled and brought his hand to the back of his head, that adorable act of self-soothing that reminded David of their conversations after those early classes, much like his own tendency to make his hands disappear into his sleeves. And fuck if it wasn’t endearing. _Shit._

The silence between them as they ate was much more companionable than the awkwardness from earlier, but David still felt a spark of anxiety shooting down his spine. They were both deliberately avoiding eye contact, but apparently neither of them was actually good at hiding their so-called furtive glances. 

It wasn’t it a date. It was a dinner to discuss business and air out some old tension. 

But it certainly felt like a date.

Was it a date? 

After finishing the second beer and pushing the food around on his plate a bit more, Patrick started to speak, “Okay, so here’s the thing…” 

Since he was staring down at his plate like it was the most interesting thing the world, Patrick didn’t realize that David had just taken a too-large bite, so when he hazarded a bashful glance toward David, he was rewarded with the image of David doing his best impression of a hungry chipmunk, his cheeks stuffed with burger. 

David just sat there, chewing helplessly as he watched Patrick’s face transform from bashful button to cackling asshole in a matter of seconds. “Thut up,” David tried his best to sound threatening, but knew it was pointless. 

“It’s rude to talk with your mouth full, David,” Patrick giggled. “Don’t worry, I’ll wait.” His eyes twinkled while he waited. 

“Alright, let’s try this again,” Patrick said. “I wanted to apologize to you for how I acted. I am…well, at least I _was_ your teacher, and taking advantage of that power dynamic is unethical. I put you in an awkward situation, and I shouldn’t have done that.” 

It was a good thing David had finally finished chewing, because otherwise, he would have definitely done a spit-take at that admission, and spitting food was most assuredly _not_ correct. “You think you were taking _advantage_ of me?” he sputtered, eyes wide and disbelieving. 

“Um, I pretty much mauled you while you were taking my class, David!” Patrick practically exploded. “It was completely unprofessional, and I’m embarrassed that I lost control like that. I should never have put you in that situation.” He hung his head in shame, looking miserable as he rested his forehead in his hand. 

“Okay, first of all, that kiss was really hot,” David said. “Second, maybe it’s because I’m new to yoga, or whatever, but like, I didn’t realize there was some sort of Yoga Code that says you can’t,” he waved his hand to emphasize his next point, “kiss or _whatever..._ with students?” 

“Well, uh…it’s not like there’s an actual _rule_ ,” Patrick backpedaled. “It’s more about the principle of the situation. I own the studio, and I need to set a good example for the community.” 

“Okay,” David was still processing everything, and since Patrick was in a truth-telling mood, he pressed further. “So when you jumped away when Robin walked in, it wasn’t because you were…you know,” David couldn’t say the words he’d heard from so many people before—embarrassed, ashamed to be caught with their dirty little secret—so instead he shrugged; he didn’t try to mask the pain and uncertainty that he knew flashed across his face, “o-of…about _me_?” He ducked down, afraid to look Patrick in the eye, afraid to see his response. 

“Not at all,” Patrick’s voice was soft, gentle; from the corner of his eye, David saw him reaching across the table, resting his hand, palm up, in front of David. “David, will you look at me?”

Patrick was chewing on his bottom lip, his whiskey brown eyes warm and open and full of hope, and it was fucking _terrifying._

David’s eyes darted between those warm eyes and the hand resting in front of him. He took a deep breath in, and let it go, and as he did, he let his fingers slide along Patrick’s and squeeze. As his whole body vibrated with a million emotions at once, he met Patrick’s steady gaze and spoke. 

“So now what?” 

***

“Just to clarify,” David groaned as Patrick’s teeth clamped down just above his collar, at the juncture of his neck and shoulder, “this _was_ a date, right?” Patrick was too busy sucking and nibbling the tender skin beneath his mouth to respond—apparently unwilling to stop until a deep crimson had started to blossom—so David threaded the fingers of one hand through the curls at the top of his head and gave a soft tug. 

“Hmmm?” Patrick tore his lips away from David’s neck just enough to hum against his skin, sending shivers running down David’s back. David tugged a little harder. “I _said,_ this wasn’t just a business meeting, was it? It was a date?” 

Patrick nosed his way up David’s neck, nuzzling into the soft hair behind his ear. “Nope, totally a business meeting. This is how I end all my business dinners, making out in my car.” He nipped at David’s ear lobe, and then traced the tip of his tongue along the shell of David’s ear. 

“Fuck, that feels good,” David let himself be distracted for just another moment. “But can we be serious for just a second?” He pulled harder, this time managing to bring Patrick’s head completely away from his own. Patrick’s eyes were unfocused, his cheeks flushed, and David wanted to tear him apart. _Fuck._ David missed his mouth already, but this was important. 

“I just…I don’t want to fuck things up because of a misunderstanding again. I want to make sure we’re on the same page with,” David hesitated as he tried to find the right words, the words that wouldn’t send Patrick careening off into the distance, “ _whatever_ is happening here. With us.” He moved the hand in Patrick’s hair to cup his jaw, “Because I really like you?” David cringed at the sincerity of it all, but…well, this was something new. Something different. And he was a little scared of just how much he wanted it. 

It took a little while, David couldn’t help but notice, for Patrick’s eyes to come back into focus, for his brain to come back on line. He smiled at David, this devastating mix of shy and playful, and brought a single fingertip to graze David’s stubbled jaw. “I really like you, too.” He let that finger trace up along David’s cheekbone, to his temple, and then brought his hand to rest against the back of David’s neck. “And if we’re being honest here, I should probably tell you…” he trailed off, and even in the dimly lit glow of the motel parking lot, David could see the flush spreading from his cheeks to the tops of his ears. _Oh god_ , David tried not to _visibly_ panic as he ran through a thousand and one worst-case scenarios in a fraction of a second. 

“Until that day at the studio, I’d never done that before…with a guy.” He leaned across the console again, this time letting his lips brush against David’s stubble. “So thank you for making that happen, for us.” _Well._ Whatever David was worried about, it certainly wasn’t _that._ Nothing about Patrick Brewer’s hands and mouth suggested amateur hours. 

David shot him a coy half-smile, “Well, um, fortunately, I'm a _very_ generous person.” _This was really happening._ Whatever _this_ was _, it was really fucking happening._

“Can we talk tomorrow?” 

“We can talk whenever you’d like. Just, preferably, not before 10 am. I’ve got yoga.” David lifted an eyebrow in what he hoped was a flirty, encouraging way. 

“Yoga, huh?” Patrick grinned. “Maybe I’ll see you there. I’ve got an in at the studio.” He leaned in and pressed his lips against David’s. “Good night, David.” 

“Good night, Patrick.” 

David opened the door and stepped out of the car, feeling light and happy in a way that was utterly, unbelievably new to him. He waved to Patrick as he started the car, calling out one last goodbye before he drove off. “And save me my corner spot!” 


	11. Yoga Date

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick chuckled quietly, and then reached over, threading the fingers of one hand through David’s and pulling it toward his chest. “Good morning,” he whispered as he brought David’s hand up to his lips for a delicate kiss.  
> -  
> Hey, guess what! They're not just pining now.

When David arrived at Vishuddha the next morning, his whole body was thrumming in anticipation. And, okay, yes, he was nervous as he walked up to the door. He saw Patrick standing behind the counter, laughing about something as he chatted with the other teacher. Robin, the one who’d interrupted them that first day. David felt his stomach jump a little at the memory. 

_Just open the door._

David felt a wave of calm wash over him as he entered the studio and saw Patrick’s face light up. “Hi,” he breathed, feeling the left corner of his mouth creeping up, unbidden. 

“Hey,” Patrick replied, moving quickly from behind the counter and coming up to kiss David on the cheek. 

_Oh_. David felt the warmth spreading from his chest at the gesture, such a stark contrast to the last time the three of them were in this space. 

“Welcome, David! It’s so good to have you in class this morning,” Robin smiled warmly as she moved to stand behind the counter, in the space Patrick had just left. “I’ll get you checked in and you can get your mat set up.” 

“Thanks, Robin.” David sat to untie his high tops, and put them in his favorite cubby (top left corner, the opposite end from the small vase, and the one least likely to have random students accidentally touch the contents) along with his socks, phone, wallet, and keys. Since this was a faster-paced vinyasa class, he went ahead and peeled off his Études sweatshirt, folding it carefully before placing it on top of his shoes. 

He tucked his lips between his teeth as he watched Patrick unroll his faded blue mat in the spot next David’s corner, shamelessly staring at his ass and thighs in those sinfully thin athletic shorts. 

As he crossed the studio toward his corner, David felt a wave of butterflies in his stomach. “Is this spot taken?” he asked, only slightly irritated at how shy and reedy his voice sounded. 

Patrick’s eyes sparkled as he looked up at David. _God, I want to lick him all over._ “Sorry, the corner’s reserved for this cute boy I’m seeing.” David could’ve swooned—legit fucking _swooned_ —as he watched the smile bloom across Patrick’s face. “Mmm,” he nodded. 

“Tall, dark, strikingly handsome,” Patrick’s smile was blinding, and if this was the last thing David ever saw, it would be perfect, “you can’t miss him.” David unrolled his mat and sat down, cross-legged, shivering at the touch when he let his knee bump against Patrick’s. 

“Good morning,” David grinned, giving Patrick a little shoulder shimmy. 

Patrick chuckled quietly, and then reached over, threading the fingers of one hand through David’s and pulling it toward his chest. “Good morning,” he whispered as he brought David’s hand up to his lips for a delicate kiss. 

_Yes, this is how I die_ , David felt that icy part of his chest melting just a little bit more at the press of Patrick’s lips, and it was all he could do not to dissolve into a puddle of goo right there on his mat. He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face up toward the ceiling to send a silent thank you out to the universe for giving him this perfect moment.

David leaned over to rest his head on Patrick’s shoulder and whispered, “Now, class is about to start, and I need to get into my yoga headspace, ‘kay?” 

“Okay, David.” Patrick came down onto his back, fingers still tangled with David’s, pulling gently to encourage David to lie back, as well. David complied. 

“Are you going to let go of my hand?” 

“Not a chance.” Patrick brought David’s hand back to his lips for one more soft kiss, and then let their intertwined hands settle on the floor between them. 

As David closed his eyes and started to focus on his breath, he realized that his cheeks ached...from smiling? He was smiling, wide and toothy and utterly unbidden, and normally he was so good at reining in the smiles. But with Patrick, all that effort to bite it back just seemed unnecessary. 

The next hour passed by in a giddy rush. At several points during the class, David found himself so distracted by the graceful movements of the gorgeous man beside him that he had to stop and take a few breaths in child’s pose before he could continue. Okay, so maybe he lost his focus just a _tiny_ bit, and stumbled out of tree pose when Patrick peeled his t-shirt off and wiped his sweaty forehead with it. 

And holy fuck, when Patrick noticed how flustered David was he milked it for all it was worth, licking his lips and winking at David with a downright predatory smirk as he moved. _That’s it_ , David decided, _as soon as I can, I’m gonna tear him apart._

David found himself practically vibrating with desire as he tried to settle into savasana at the end of class. _So that’s a downside to yoga dates,_ he thought to himself, unable to clear his mind and just be in the moment. But really, it wasn’t the _bad_ kind of nervous energy he associated with anxiety and panic attacks. Nope, this was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by swallowing Patrick’s cock, which he intended to do sooner rather than later. 

Unfortunately, it seemed that the universe, and every fucking person in the studio, was adamantly opposed to David’s plans. Right after Robin chimed the bell signaling the end of class, Patrick was practically mobbed by other students. Women decked out head to toe in Lululemon and Alo, who somehow managed to get through an hour of intense power yoga without breaking a sweat. David felt a twinge in the pit of his stomach as he watched Patrick—genuine, earnest, sweaty, _shirtless_ Patrick—carry on conversations with women who clearly wanted to…well, probably do the exact same things David was wanting to do to him, but that wasn’t the point.

David ducked into the washroom to check the status of his hair, disappointed to see that he did _not_ have whatever magic Patrick’s hangers-on had; damp ringlets clung to his forehead, and his shirt had turned nearly translucent from how much he’d sweat during class. _Ugh._ He should’ve grabbed his sweatshirt before he came in here; now he was only too aware of just how long it had been since he’d gotten a wax. He splashed some water on his face, then closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to settle the nerves bubbling up before he headed back out. 

Patrick was alone—and sadly, back in his shirt—pushing a dust mop back and forth across the studio when David returned. When he looked up at David, he smiled, a little, almost bashful thing, ducking his head and looking through his lashes. “There you are,” he spoke, so softly he was barely audible. 

“I wanted to give you time with your adoring fans,” David replied, snarkier than he’d intended. He cringed. “Sorry, that wasn’t very nice of me.” 

Patrick had a wicked gleam in his eye and a teasing little grin as he pushed the mop toward David. When he’d closed the distance between them, he schooled his face into one of faux-seriousness. “Do you have a problem with the other students, David?” He leaned the mop handle onto the counter so that he could snake his arms around David’s waist. David felt his own smile blossom across his face as he slid his hands up Patrick’s arms, and then wrapped his own arms tight around Patrick’s neck. 

“Only the ones who were eye-fucking you the whole morning,” he murmured, leaning down to ghost his lips over Patrick’s. 

“Yeah?” Patrick let his hands slip underneath the hem of David’s shirt and rested them on the bare skin of David’s lower back. His palms felt fucking _electric,_ and David wanted so much more. “And why is that, David?” Patrick nuzzled his nose against David’s before tilting his head up to look him in the eye, his golden brown eyes heavy lidded, the pupils wide and hungry. 

“I think you know why,” David brought his forehead down to rest against Patrick’s and gave him a flirty half-smirk. 

“And I think I need you to tell me,” Patrick pursed his lips together in that ridiculous and utterly adorable smile, and then, before David realized what was happening, stuck his tongue out and licked a stripe up David’s chin to his nose. 

“What the _fuck_ , Patrick?” David sputtered, as Patrick collapsed into giggles. David put his hands on Patrick’s chest and pushed him back so that he could give him a withering glare. 

Patrick shrugged, his shoulders still quaking with laughter as he held David tighter, “I dunno, felt right in the moment, I guess?” He nipped at David’s lower lip, utterly unaffected by David’s attempt at an icy glare, and David had to laugh at his brazen, goofy confidence. “So tell me, David, why do you have a problem with the women who were…as you so eloquently put it, ’eye-fucking me the whole morning’?” He looked up at David with wide, innocent eyes. 

God, David wanted to kiss that smirk right off his face. 

So he did. 

He curled his fingers around the back of Patrick’s head and pulled him close, tongue thrusting into Patrick’s mouth with enough intensity that it made Patrick whimper. David just devoured the sound as he licked along Patrick’s lips, tongue exploring inside his mouth until Patrick was moaning and sliding his hands up David’s back, rucking up his t-shirt even more. They kissed like that—tongues dancing, hands roaming, and warm, sweat-dampened bodies pressing together—until both men reluctantly remembered the need to breathe. They panted in sync, a shared, shallow breath, as they reluctantly pulled apart. 

“Do you really need to hear me say it?” David licked at Patrick’s upper lip, his eyes searching into Patrick’s. Patrick could only nod in response, nuzzling his nose against David’s as he did. “You need to hear me say that I was jealous of all the little yoga women in their yoga outfits looking at you like you were the last pair of black leggings at a Lululemon outlet sale?”

Patrick gave him a coy little grin. “You were jealous?” he teased, softly, and when David rolled his eyes and shook his head—the universal gesture for “ _Obviously_ , asshole”—Patrick just laughed and glanced down at the floor. But then he looked back up, and his eyes were darker, the grin transformed to something wilder, hungry. “You know what I was thinking of the whole time?” he asked, voice rough with desire. David gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, curious but uncertain. “I was wondering what you sound like when you come.” 

This time Patrick took charge, threading his calloused fingers through David’s hair and tugging him down into a bruising kiss, a passionate, frenzied collision of lips and teeth that David was all too willing to lose himself to. David let his hands wander around Patrick’s ribcage and splayed his palms wide along the muscles of his back. He desperately wanted to reach underneath Patrick’s shirt to feel his bare skin, still hot and slick with sweat; he wanted to run his tongue along the lines of Patrick’s neck, bite down and mark him for all the Lululemon women to see. 

But…

Somewhere underneath the sheer _want_ pulsating throughout his body, David remembered last night— _god, was it only last night?_ —“I’d never done that before…with a guy.” Was this an experiment for Patrick? While he may have been okay with being a queer tester bottle in the past, he couldn’t do it again. Not with someone nice, that he respected. Not with Patrick. He wanted more, and it scared the shit out of him. 

Patrick broke off from David’s mouth, scraping his cheek against the stubble on David’s cheek before pressing open-mouth kisses down his neck, and then his hands meandered down David’s back. When they reached David’s ass, he gave both cheeks a firm squeeze and pulled David closer. Feeling Patrick hot and hard against his hip, David wanted to give in to the pleasure and grind their erections together, to let go and dry hump to completion right there on the studio floor in the middle of the morning. It would be so easy to just let go. He wanted it; Patrick wanted it; it would be so fucking _easy…_

“Patrick,” he gasped, “we need to stop.” It took a few moments for Patrick’s brain to process David’s words, David could tell from his delayed reaction. Patrick was panting as he tore his mouth away from David’s neck, saliva trailing as he went, looking up at David with endearingly lust-blown puppy dog eyes. “I...um, is everything okay?” 

David inhaled, dropped a tender kiss onto the tip of Patrick’s nose, and then rested his forehead on Patrick’s. “I...just...what you said last night. I was think—I mean, uh... maybe we should take things slow?” And now those eyes staring up at him were making David feel like he’d just kicked the horny puppy. 

“Is this about the other students? I thought I made it clear that I’m not interested in them,” Patrick said, idly rubbing his cheek against David’s jaw as he spoke. 

It took all his resolve to do so, but David pulled away and walked over to sit on the bench. He folded his hands in his lap, working up the nerve to engage in yet another round of genuine human emotion. 

“I can’t be an experiment, Patrick,” he willed himself to look Patrick in the eye as he spoke, his voice quavering slightly. “I like you too much.” And it was too much; he had to duck his head before Patrick could visibly react. 

“David,” Patrick closed the distance between them in a few strides and knelt before him. He put one hand on top of David’s, and tilted David’s chin up to meet his gaze with the other. “You’re not an experiment. I’m gay. I’ve known it for a while; I just hadn’t found the right guy. Not until you.” He leaned in and grazed his lips along David’s jaw, seeking out the sensation of David’s stubble against his skin. “Can I kiss you now, David?” 

David let out the breath he’d been holding and brushed his lips against Patrick’s, soft and sure, and Patrick accepted him eagerly. This kiss was slow, a gentle press of lips that began to build, embers gradually erupting into flame, as Patrick opened his mouth for David’s seeking tongue, their hands roving along each other’s back and shoulders. Patrick whined softly when David broke it off to take a breath—a tiny, desperate thing—and the sound flipped a switch in David’s brain. He let his hands drop down to Patrick’s hips, palms sliding up and down, but was careful to keep his fingers away from Patrick’s ass. Patrick whined again, and brought his own hands over David’s, pushing him, encouraging him to take hold, to claim Patrick as _his._

“That’s not slow,” David mouthed the words against Patrick’s lips before breaking into a smug little smirk.

Patrick groaned in frustration, and then grabbed David’s hands as he stood up, pulled David to his feet, and then started walking David backwards. “O-oh, okay, so we’re doing this?” David sputtered out. Patrick just gave him a wide smile, in response, and kept moving. 

When David’s back bumped against the wall, Patrick pushed his hands up to either side of David’s head and held them there, the only point of contact between them. Patrick’s eyes had gone _feral,_ and he looked like he was ready to rip David to fucking shreds, but he just stood there, unmoving except for his chest heaving rough breaths as he stared at David. 

Taking it slow was starting to look like a fucking labor of Hercules at this point. 

Patrick leaned his face in so that David could feel his breath, and then licked at the seam of David’s lips, teasing with just the tip of his tongue until David was whimpering for more, desperately trying not to thrust his hips forward. “Please, Patrick,” he gasped, “Please.” 

Patrick nuzzled the tip of his nose against David’s, gave him a look that was equal parts fond and smug, and then let go of his hands and turned away. 

“Let’s go get brunch,” he called as he walked toward the door. 


	12. Blueberry Pancakes and Acai Bowls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brunch and conversations, because in this alternate universe, these two idiots actually talk about shit rather than boxing it up. It probably has something to do with the yoga.

Patrick finished closing the studio while David gathered his things. As he waited for Patrick to lock the door behind them, David found himself hoping that Patrick would hold his hand. His stomach knotted up at the prospect of it—thinking about Patrick just reaching for his hand, lacing their fingers together sent a shiver up his spine. And, objectively, David realized the absurdity of it; after all, the man had _just_ pinned his hands to the wall as they were making out. But this? The possibility of such an innocent gesture had David’s mind swirling.

He wanted it, and it was like nothing he’d ever felt before, and it was…confusing, intimate in a way that a lifetime of hookups had never been. It scared him just how much he wanted it. 

So he stood there, just far enough away from Patrick that he couldn’t feel that magnetic energy that seemed to pull him closer unbidden, watching. 

Waiting. 

Wanting. 

Hoping.

After the seventeen thousand minutes it seemed to take for him to lock up, Patrick turned around and smiled, soft and sweet, when he saw David standing there, almost like he was surprised that David had waited—definitely like he was utterly charmed by that fact. 

“Are you ready for pancakes?” He did that bashful look as he asked, peeking through golden lashes as if he was half-expecting David to say no. _Like that would ever happen._

David pursed his lips and just nodded rapidly. Because he didn’t quite trust himself to open his mouth, afraid he might accidentally blurt out “Will you hold my hand?” And as much as he _wanted_ that to happen, it had to be organic. It had to be _Patrick’s_ idea, or it just wouldn’t count.

Sometimes David really hated how his brain operated, adding so many layers of unnecessary complication to things that could be so much easier. 

“Shall we?” Patrick reached a tentative hand forward. 

When Patrick’s fingers slid between his, David felt that icy, hardened thing inside his chest melt a little bit more. 

***

Twenty minutes later, they were settled into a cozy booth at a hole-in-the wall cafe down the street from the studio. Patrick had reluctantly dropped David’s hand when David had moved to sit on the bench across from him, and Mariah as his witness, David could’ve sworn Patrick pouted a little when David didn’t squeeze in next to him. He fucking _pouted_ , and David was absolutely going to die, but blueberry pancakes are not a finger food. And David just couldn’t let his Études sweatshirt become a casualty of reckless, one-handed eating. 

Besides, he figured it would be easier to have an actual conversation if he couldn’t feel Patrick’s thigh pressed close against his own. 

They ordered and the server brought their drinks—skim caramel macchiato with two sweeteners and a sprinkle of cocoa powder for David, yerba mate tea ( _gross_ ) for Patrick. David shuddered as he watched Patrick take a sip of it, without any sugar or honey or sweetener at _all._ Patrick was probably the type of person who drank kombucha. _Oh god._ What if he was the kind of person who _made their own kombucha_? David may have given another little involuntary shudder. And that made David realize that he really knew very little about the man across the table from him.

  1. He’s cute as a button.
  2. He has a nice ass. And forearms. And thighs. And the muscles of his back look _amazing_ when he’s moving. 
  3. He’s an incredible kisser. 
  4. He’s a…business helper, of some sort. 
  5. Oh, and he’s a yoga teacher and owns a yoga studio. 



Okay, so as far as practical knowledge about Patrick, David was still a little lacking. But he was pretty sure that someone who made _that_ face when he looked up at David through his lashes couldn’t be a murderer. Probably. Besides, yoga people were calm, right?

“I’m realizing that I…uh, don’t really know that much about you?” He wished that his voice didn’t do that uptick at the end that made him sound Alexis when she was being irrational. Because he _wasn’t_ being irrational. Just, a little—ok, maybe more than a little—nervous. Historically, the “getting to know you” part of a relationship wasn’t an area in which David excelled. Could they even call this…whatever it was, a relationship? David thought he wanted it to be a relationship. And, fuck, _that_ was hard to admit, even to himself. 

He took another deep breath and let it out slowly, and started again. “Tell me about yourself, Patrick,” David pulled his lips between his teeth and waited, expectantly. 

“What would you like to know?” David noticed how Patrick was inching his hand across the table so, so slowly, and he felt himself go a little gooey. He slid his own hand over and started tracing little circles on Patrick’s palm with the tip of his index finger. Patrick’s shoulders softened considerably at his touch, and David was _definitely_ going to die. 

“So, you’ve got the studio, and you’re a—” he waved his free hand in a mildly ridiculous circle as he searched for the word, “business-type…person, too?” David was pretty sure he could feel the furrow in his brows forming permanent wrinkles as he thought about it. 

“Yes, I’m a yoga teacher and a business…type person, too,” Patrick began, “That’s what’s on my business card, actually.” His mouth was flat as he spoke, but he couldn’t mask the smile in his twinkling eyes. Whether it was from his glee at teasing David or from the way his whole body lit up from David’s delicate touch on his palm, David couldn’t tell. 

David rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Mockery? That’s how we’re going to do this?” 

“Do what, David?” Patrick deadpanned, “ Business type stuff?” 

“You’re a dick.” 

“You like dicks.” When he saw David’s eyes widen, Patrick started to flush, pink spreading across the tops of his ears and cheeks. “Um-uh, I mean…I didn’t—,” he stammered, adorably, while David let him stew in his embarrassment. 

“See where mocking me gets you, Brewer?” David quirked an eyebrow. 

Patrick ducked his head and rubbed his hand up over his scalp, tentatively looking back up at David. “Noted,” he said bashfully. 

“So before we were so rudely torn off topic, I believe you were about to tell me about how you came to be a business helper person slash yoga guy.” He narrowed his eyes as he finished talking, daring Patrick to take the bait. 

This time he didn’t. 

Instead, he lifted the palm David was stroking up and pressed it against David’s, weaving his fingers between David’s, admiring the way they fit together. Then he brought their hands back to the table and just held David’s hand gently. 

“I moved to Elmdale about a year ago because I needed a change,” he gave a half-hearted shrug, and just looked at David expectantly. 

“Okay, thank you very much for the Twitter version of the story. Now I’m gonna need the Insta caption, please.” 

Patrick gave a wide-eyed chuckle, and rubbed his free hand through his hair again, the nervous gesture that was becoming more endearing each time David watched him do it. Patrick sucked his lips between his teeth and nodded at his tea. David could practically see the internal pep talk Patrick was working through. David gave his hand a gentle squeeze of support. 

“Well,” Patrick hesitated, “I-I was, um, until...well, until just over a year ago, I was working as a business analyst in Ottawa,” David nodded encouragingly, hoping that his eyes didn’t start to _visibly_ glaze over at the mention of business-y things. “And I…um, well,” he tugged his fingers through his hair again, god love him, “I was living with my fiancée.” Patrick paused and peeked up at David, looking for all the world like a skittish puppy ready to dart away at the slightest hint of unrest. “A woman.” 

“Okay. So then what happened?” David kept his voice soft to reassure Patrick, to encourage him to continue. 

Patrick heaved out a sigh of relief, and hazarded a glance directly toward David’s face. “You’re…that doesn’t bother you?”

“Given what you said about that morning we…well,” David gave a little shimmy of a shrug, “I kind of figured there was a story there. What’s her name?” 

“Rachel. And, uh…well, what happened is that something finally clicked for me while I was doing an intensive yoga teacher training. We spent a lot of time meditating and focusing on getting to really _know_ _ourselves_ along with training in the physical poses and philosophy.

“I had my lightbulb moment, I guess you could call it—well, it was more like a lightning bolt, as big and electric and...um, well, as destructive as it was. It kind of burned everything to the ground when it happened. Anyway, everything just fell into place for me when I was studying the chakra system. And, okay, yeah, it’s a little bit _woo_ and all…” he trailed off, and David could sense he was psyching himself out. “There’s nothing wrong with getting a little,” David cringed as he said it, “ _woo-_ ey.” That made Patrick giggle, which made David melt just a little more. 

“Anyway, Vishuddha is the Sanskrit name for the throat chakra, and it represents communication, being comfortable with expressing who you are, to yourself and to other people,” Patrick stopped to take a breath. “I’m sorry, I heard myself kind of going into teacher mode there,” he gave an apologetic little laugh. 

“So, yeah…the things I was reading and thinking about…it just hit me. I’d been struggling with so much, years of breaking up and getting back with Rachel and things never felt quite right. I was going through the motions, doing what I thought I was _supposed_ to do—finish school, get a job, settle down, start a family. Only when I thought about actually _doing_ that stuff? Well, it was like I couldn’t breathe.” Based on Patrick’s fond expression, David could only imagine the journey his face was taking as he processed everything. 

“That’s why I started taking yoga, too, you know,” Patrick gave him a pensive smile, “To help with the panic and anxiety. And it did. Help, I mean. I liked it so much that I decided to sign up for a teacher training course one of my favorite teachers was running.” 

Just then, the server arrived with David’s blueberry pancakes and Patrick’s acai bowl, interrupting the flow of Patrick’s story. He chewed his lower lip for a moment and looked at David thoughtfully. 

“Anyway, to make a long story, well, _slightly_ shorter? It was during that training that everything came together for me—the panic and anxiety, how Rachel and I never quite fit, even if we looked good on paper—everything felt off because I didn’t realize my own truth. That I’m gay. Once I realized that, everything else just sort of shifted into place. Rach and I ended things, and a little while later I moved down to Elmdale.” He stopped talking long enough to get a spoonful of that atrocious purple slop with oatmeal on top, and lifted it up as if to toast. 

“Shall we?” Patrick grinned at David’s grimace, apparently charmed by how disgusting David found Patrick’s choice of breakfast. 

“If you insist...but for the record, toasting with glorified baby food is incorrect,” David rolled his eyes, his mouth smushed to the left to minimize the smile, and took a bite of pancake. 

Patrick spent the rest of brunch opening up to David as if that was...normal. Maybe it was? David thought he could get used to this. Pancakes and communicating openly. Especially if it meant Patrick looking at him like _that,_ all sincere eyes and gentle smiles, with just the tiniest hint of hunger buried beneath them. God, David wanted to fucking _ruin_ him. 

But that acai bowl? That would definitely require some adjustment. 

***

Patrick took David’s hand as they walked back toward the studio, drawing lazy circles with his thumb on the back of David’s hand as they chatted about Patrick’s poor taste in breakfast foods, David’s favorite music, yoga poses that David just couldn’t quite wrap his head around…it was nice, oddly intimate. Each stroke of Patrick’s thumb across his knuckles shot an electric zing straight down David’s spine, and it was so fucking delicious. 

When the arrived at the door of the studio, both men just stood there, holding hands and grinning at one another in what should have been awkward silence. But it wasn’t awkward; instead, it was…comfortable? 

“Well, that was a fun morning,” David began, “which is saying something, because I am _not_ a morning person.” He could feel the smile starting to blossom across his face. David usually tried to contain it because someone ( _was it Sebastien? It was probably Sebastien._ ) had once told him that his full, toothy smile made him look deranged. But Patrick? Patrick looked at him so warmly that David felt safe to let the smile come through. And when he did, he was rewarded with one of Patrick’s that lit him up inside—it was upside-down, somehow, the corners of his lips downturned but it wasn’t a frown; it was a bright and happy upside-down smile, and Patrick’s eyes were so light and his whole face was just effervescent, bubbling over with obvious delight. 

David was in serious trouble. 


	13. At last...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is smut, but _mild_ smut because David wants to take it slow.

What David intended to be a chaste goodnight (well, good afternoon) kiss quickly turned dirty. Well, Patrick turned it dirty; David had tried to be a gentleman. Patrick pulled him in closer, blunt nails scraping against David’s hairline as his other arm snaked around to grab hold of David’s ass. Patrick sucked David’s bottom lip between his own, teased it with his tongue before licking into David’s mouth with a groan. 

After some time—possibly a minute, possibly a lot more; David wasn’t sure—exploring David’s mouth with his tongue, Patrick pulled back just enough to mouth, “Come upstairs with me,” against his lips. “Please?” 

_Fuck._

David nodded and leaned into another kiss, wrapping his arms around Patrick’s neck as their lips met, messy and bruising and absolutely _perfect._ “Yes, let’s do that.” 

The short trip to Patrick’s apartment would’ve gone a lot quicker had either man been willing to break the kiss long enough to walk up the stairs, but eventually, they made it inside. Patrick immediately pushed David’s back against the door, his tongue tracing down David’s neck, then biting down at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. David’s head fell back against the door with a loud thunk, and he slid his hands underneath the hem of Patrick’s soft zippered hoodie and technical t-shirt so that he could run his palms up Patrick’s bare back. 

“I want you so much,” Patrick moaned into David’s skin as he continued to lick and nibble and suck what was sure to be a vibrant bruise into his shoulder. “So fucking much.” Seemingly satisfied with the mark he’d made, he carded his fingers through the back of David’s hair and pulled him down for another kiss, then started walking them backward to…somewhere. David hadn’t really noticed the layout of Patrick’s apartment when they came in, and it’s not like he was about to look around _now._

He felt Patrick growing hard against his thigh and couldn’t control his hips as the bucked forward. 

“Fuck, David,” Patrick muttered, mouth dragging along David’s jaw as he slid his hands down to cup David’s ass and pull him tighter. “ _Fuck,_ ” he gasped out, grinding himself against David’s own growing erection. 

“Is that what you want?” David asked, voice husky with desire. 

David opened his eyes at Patrick’s sharp intake of breath, and saw him looking back at David, eyes wide with an adorably sexy mixture of nerves and lust. “We can do whatever you want to do,” David murmured as he pressed his forehead against Patrick’s, nuzzled their noses together. “Just tell me what you want.” He pressed a soft kiss to Patrick’s lips. 

Patrick gazed up at him, eyes slowly coming into focus, and smiled, a delicate little thing. “You,” he said simply, and went back in for another kiss. Feeling something tugging at the inside of his chest, David obliged for a while, kissing him back sure and steady.

“That may be the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me,” David pushed back on Patrick’s chest as he started to speak, his voice grown breathy, “but I’m going to need an actual answer before we do anything more.” 

Patrick whined at the loss of contact with David’s mouth, he actually fucking _whined_ , and David wanted to tear him apart. He took that moment to check his surroundings and noticed they’d almost reached the foot of Patrick’s bed in what was a decidedly small studio apartment space. David crowded Patrick until the backs of his knees hit the edge of the bed and he sat down, roughly pulling David down on top of him. David straddled Patrick’s lap and kissed him again, gently rocking himself against Patrick’s clothed cock, trying desperately to maintain some semblance of control. 

“David,” Patrick sighed against David’s throat as his fingers pressed into the sensitive skin along David’s hips. David hoped he’d have bruises tomorrow; it was _delicious._ “Just…please, David,” Patrick thrust up against him, and _fuck_ , it felt good. And for the second time that day, David thought he could come in his pants, wanted to give in to the pleasure and just grind down onto Patrick’s lap until they both came like horny teenagers. It would feel _so good_ for both of them. 

“Do we need to stop, Patrick?” David tried to sound convincing as he spoke, but Patrick was sucking that spot behind his ear and scratching his back just above his waistband, and it was really hard to sound believable when he was still rolling his hips on Patrick’s lap, his breath hitching each time he felt Patrick’s length against him. 

“Anything you want,” David licked the words against Patrick’s smooth jaw, finding his way back to his mouth, “just tell me.” 

“I want to see you,” Patrick growled and nipped at David’s lip, “I want to get you naked in my bed.” And this time, Patrick’s kiss was demanding, more aggressive as he fucked his tongue into David’s mouth to the same rhythm as he rocked his hips. “Now, David.” 

Patrick brought his hands to the hem of David’s sweatshirt and began to push it up. David carefully pulled it over his head and dropped it over the footboard. Patrick mouthed at David’s pec through his t-shirt, and it made him shudder. “This too,” Patrick commanded, sliding his hands underneath the soft fabric. David lifted it over his head and tossed it aside; that one could be flung a bit to keep his body pressing against Patrick’s. 

“God, you’re beautiful,” Patrick ran his palms up David’s torso, “I didn’t know how much I wanted...how much I needed this,” his words trailed off as Patrick nuzzled his face into the tangle of dark hair on David’s chest, so slow and reverent that David forgot to be self-conscious about his body. “You’re so fucking beautiful, David.” 

David whimpered as he ran his fingers through the hint of auburn curls at the back of Patrick’s head, then scratched lightly down Patrick’s overly-dressed back. “You too?” he whispered, bringing his hands to Patrick’s chest and tentatively reaching for the zipper at his chest. 

Patrick looked up at David, pupils blown wide with lust, and nodded mutely before he continued to rub his cheeks against David’s chest hair, like he was mesmerized. 

_Such a fucking button,_ David thought fondly as he unzipped the navy blue hoodie, slowly, so slowly, like the way he used to do when he unwrapped gifts to torment Alexis. Only this time, it was all about savoring the moment, the feel of Patrick’s heartbeat thumping against his hand, his chest heaving as he took in ragged gulps of air, and _fuck_. The sensation of Patrick’s lips on his chest, mouthing his way to David’s nipple.

Now it was David’s turn to gasp as Patrick flicked his tongue against his nipple, teasing it until it hardened into a peak, and began to suck. 

“ _Fuck_ , Patrick,” David brought a hand up to card through the short hair at the back of Patrick’s head, trying—and okay, failing—not to put pressure on his head, pulling him in closer. Patrick bit down, drawing a pleased hiss from David’s throat. 

“Mmhmm,” Patrick hummed in agreement around David’s nipple, and it was getting harder and harder for David to remember why he was determined for them to take things slowly. 

David yanked Patrick’s hoodie down his shoulders and started maneuvering them up the bed. “Shoes off,” he demanded, cursing silently as he rolled off Patrick’s lap to untie his stupid fucking high-tops and socks and kick them off…somewhere. It didn’t matter. He wanted to get back to straddling Patrick, feeling him hot and hard as they writhed together. _Fuck_. 

Patrick had told him what he wanted— _“I want to get you naked in my bed”_ —and David wanted to give him every goddamn thing he could ever want. He stood up and pushed his joggers down his legs and stepped out of them, climbing back into Patrick’s lap, knees on either side of his thick thighs. Those fucking gorgeous thighs. 

“Off,” David’s hands were frantic as he tugged at the hem of Patrick’s t-shirt, desperate to get his palms on the heat of Patrick’s bare skin. Patrick lifted his arms up overhead and did that _thing_ —reaching behind his neck and pulling his shirt off, like some kind of neckline-stretching sex god—and David was utterly fucked. 

He grabbed either side of Patrick’s jaw with his hands, hard and rough, and brought his mouth down for a filthy kiss. Patrick slid his arms around David’s back and fucking _clawed_ down from his shoulders to the waist of his underwear, then dipped his hands inside. “These too,” Patrick growled in between kisses. 

David kneeled up so that Patrick could pull the silky black briefs down, so fucking turned on that he didn’t even feel his usual anxiety at being the most naked person in the room. In that moment, all David could focus on was giving Patrick what he wanted, and he was ready to fucking combust when Patrick wrapped those thick, strong fingers around his cock. 

“Holy fuck,” Patrick whined as he tightened his grip around David’s shaft, thumbing softly over the precome beaded at the tip. “I-I…uh, _f-fuck,_ David,” and then Patrick went utterly nonverbal as he slid his free hand to David’s neck and drew him in for a kiss, panting as he pushed his tongue between David’s kiss-swollen lips. Soon he was matching the rhythm of his tongue to his hand, fucking into David’s mouth as he jerked David slowly, so slowly, teasing just enough that David thought he might implode before he got enough friction to come. _How can he be so good at this already?_

“Wanna see you, too,” David groaned into Patrick’s mouth, “can you take these off?” He slid his hands down Patrick’s body and dipped his fingers into the waistband of his blue shorts. Patrick just nodded, and gave David’s cock, now pulsing and leaking in his grip, a rough squeeze.

David nudged Patrick toward the center of the bed, one hand pressing his chest down to the mattress as the other reached into his shorts to palm his erection through his underwear. Reluctantly, he backed himself away from Patrick’s hand, returning to his feet just long enough to pull Patrick’s shorts off and admire the man spread out before him. 

“Your thighs,” he murmured, shaking his head as if in disbelief before bending over to plant a wet kiss on the inside of Patrick’s knee. “Do you realize how fucking delicious you are?” He lazily mouthed sloppy kisses up Patrick’s inner thigh, pausing to suck and nip at a spot that would be hidden by Patrick’s workout shorts. Well, he hoped it would be, anyway, but given how Patrick arched his back and hissed in response, David figured he wouldn’t mind too much, regardless. 

“ _Day-_ vid,” Patrick whined, tugging at David’s hair as he writhed beneath him, “c’mere.” David slinked up Patrick’s body, brushing as much of himself against the bulge tenting Patrick’s boxer briefs as he could before slotting a thigh between Patrick’s. He brought his forearms to rest on either side of Patrick's head and settled more of his weight onto Patrick’s body, eliciting a needy whimper that David bent down to swallow up, tongue thrusting forcefully into Patrick’s mouth. Patrick responded with an eager rock of his hips, dragging his clothed erection against David’s bare one. 

David lost track of time as they made out, gasping and groaning as they humped like teenagers, but then Patrick rolled them on the bed so that David was pinned against the mattress, and holy fucking god, it was good. It was so so good, he may have been the one whimpering now. 

“Want—,” David choked, finding it near impossible to make words come out of his mouth as Patrick continued his bruising onslaught, “want…you.”

“You’ve got me,” Patrick licked up David’s neck then began to suck at that spot just behind his ear lobe. 

David slid his hands into the waistband of Patrick’s underwear and gripped his ass, pulling him down as he thrust his own hips up. “Off, please…” he trailed off as the head of his cock brushed against the seam of Patrick’s briefs. _Holy fucking mother of god._

“Uh-huh, yeah,” Patrick struggled to support his weight on one hand so that he could pull his boxer briefs down his thighs, a task that would have been inordinately less complicated had he just been willing to pull his lips away from David’s for a couple seconds. 

“ _Ohmygod,_ ” Patrick’s voice quickly devolved into a shuddering, wordless groan as he finally _finally_ slid his leaking cock against David’s. “I-…ff-fuck… _ohmygod,_ ” he babbled. Patrick’s eyes were glazed and unfocused as they awkwardly thrust against each other. He was so beautiful like this. David wanted to watch the pleasure spill over Patrick’s face forever; he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the gorgeous man panting and moaning above him. 

Patrick dropped his head down to rest next to David’s as they moved, his lips ghosting against the stubble of David’s jaw as he mouthed an incoherent litany punctuated by a breathless refrain of “David” that may have been the most beautiful sound David had ever heard. 

David ran his hands wildly up and down the broad muscles of Patrick’s, but as their movements began to sync up, as they found a shared rhythm, his arms settled into a tight embrace around Patrick’s ribcage, palms cupping the tops of his shoulders. 

Soon David felt a familiar tension bubbling up deep inside him, and he knew he wasn’t going to last much longer. “Patrick,” he gasped, “I’m gonna—,” Patrick thrust more forcefully as David began to speak, and David forgot himself because what even are words? 

“Wanna feel you come,” Patrick managed to grunt out, punctuating each word with thrust of his hips, those gorgeous, magical, glorious fucking hips, and David was there. He was fucking _there_ and he cried out, shuddering as he spilled white and hot between them. 

When David opened his eyes, Patrick was staring down at him, looking dazed and hungry and proud, and in that moment David hated that refractory periods existed because _fuck_ that was hot. “You came,” he whispered, amazed. David gave a tiny quirk of his lips and nodded. “Mm-hmm,” he cooed, “your turn.” He slid his hand between them, scooping up his come and then taking hold of Patrick’s cock. 

Patrick pushed himself up, just enough so that he could watch David’s come-slick hand move between them, his sweat-dampened forehead resting against David’s. “Oh wow,” Patrick began, but his breath hitched and soon he had lost all concept of words as he gave himself over to the pleasure of David’s hand stroking him, strong and sure, as he fucked into it. “Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” he managed to choke out. 

David relished the sensation of Patrick’s body tensing and flexing as he thrust into David’s hand; he licked messily along the underside of Patrick’s jaw, then bit down just next to Patrick’s Adam’s apple. And that was enough to send Patrick hurtling over the edge, his release spurting between them in a series of thick ribbons. David continued stroking him through the aftershocks, gradually gentling his hand as the stimulation became overwhelming. Without stopping to think about it, David lifted his come-covered hand to his mouth and gave it a curious taste, only to be startled at Patrick’s utterly undignified moan as he watched. Patrick grabbed David’s hand and licked up his palm before leaning in for a kiss, letting David lick into his mouth and taste them both on his tongue. _Fuck._

“Thank you, David.” 

“For what?” 

“I’ve never done that before…with a guy,” Patrick’s voice was lilting, satisfied. No evidence of an impending gay panic at all. _Thank fuck._

And before David really understood what was happening, Patrick was giggling and grinning and rolling onto his side, pressing feathery soft kisses all over David’s temple and cheek and jaw. It was…nice? Different. Patrick was absolutely _giddy_ and wrapping David up in his arms and legs, and they were both sticky with sweat and come and for the first time in his entire life, David didn’t feel that immediate compulsion to run and shower after sex. 

No, he was content right here, cuddled up in Patrick’s arms, nestling his head in the crook of Patrick’s neck and giggling right along with him. 

“You’re welcome, Patrick,” he replied, soft and hesitant, but utterly sincere. He wanted Patrick to know that it meant something, and that was definitely…new and different. “That was…that was really special for me. Thank you.” 

They stayed like that, content in each other’s arms, until they both drifted into sleep.

When they awoke from their nap a few hours later, they took a shower and then Patrick proceeded to make David forget about taking things slow all over again.


	14. Oh, I'm gonna get the money

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pay no attention to the hand wave, folks. Time is irrelevant in the world of Schitt's Creek. It's been a while, they're dating, and Rose Apothecary is open for business!

“Open the doors,” Patrick’s eyes were twinkling as he watched David move toward the door. God, it still made David’s stomach flutter when Patrick looked at him like that. Patrick cleared his throat to get David’s attention, and then stage whispered, “Softly.” _Ass._

“Okay,” David said, in fond annoyance, and unlocked the doors. 

Rose Apothecary was officially open for business. 

The entire day was a whirlwind of friends and family, the residents of Schitt’s Creek stopping in to show their support, sample the wares (okay, mostly the wine), and buy _so much_ stuff. Even Darlene’s rude cousin left with a Rose Apothecary branded tote filled with products. By the time he turned the placard in the door to Closed, David was overwhelmed and exhausted, in need of a nice long coma to recover from all the interaction. He dropped his forehead against the doorframe and took a deep breath.

“I’m so proud of you,” Patrick murmured, slipping his arms around David’s waist, and then nuzzled his nose behind his ear. David let his head fall back onto Patrick’s shoulder and brought his hands up to capture Patrick’s firm against his heart. 

“Thank you,” David sighed as he settled back into Patrick’s arms, “for being here today. For making _here_ possible. For everything.” 

“This is you, babe.” Patrick nipped playfully at David’s ear and continued nosing at the short hair behind it. “I just helped you with some of the details.” 

David felt his lips doing that _thing_ , that wandering toward the left side of his face thing he’d learned to do so long ago to temper his smiles, to prevent too much genuine human emotion from spilling out through his face. And then he remembered where he was, and who he was with, and that he didn’t need to hide it. 

David let the smile spread wide across his face.

“Let’s close up fast; I’m ravenous,” David said, and started to move toward the cash. 

“You, hungry? That is shocking news,” and if Patrick hadn’t planted a sloppy kiss on David’s cheek as soon as he finished talking, David might have been grumpy, but… _well._ Patrick was just so damn cute, grinning at him like a smitten kitten as he followed David to the counter. 

Closing up for the evening went quicker than David had expected, but then again, he hadn’t expected his boyfriend to stay at the shop all day, so there were fewer tasks left to do after closing than he’d accounted for. 

That night, David was asleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow, his heart full of hope and satisfaction and that strange, bubbling feeling that he suspected might be love. 

***

The next several weeks passed in a blur as David adapted to his grueling new schedule at Rose Apothecary. Days were long; free time was short; but the satisfaction at knowing that this was _his_ , that every day he was carving out his own professional path? David felt that in his bones. And yes, it was moderately terrifying—even when he didn’t know the truth about his galleries, he’d always known he could never completely fail, not with Johnny and Moira there to fall back on—but this time, knowing that he was doing everything without that safety net made it all the more intense. 

The exhaustion was worth it. 

Well, mostly worth it. David did miss some of his pre-opening routine, like Tuesday night yoga dates with Stevie and Patrick’s yoga double features (Patrick could yammer on about sports-ing “double headers” til he was as blue in the face as his wardrobe; it was still incorrect). Unfortunately, getting all the way to Elmdale for any yoga classes had taken a backseat to the store. It was a shame, really; he missed that grounding part of his day. 

But despite the busy schedule, David did his best to keep up with the movement and mindfulness practice that he’d developed as part of his yoga classes. Much to the chagrin of Patrick’s hoard of Lululemon-clad admirers, he still made regular appearances at his boyfriend’s Sunday evening Relax and Restore classes at Vishuddha, often with Stevie in tow. 

Once Patrick had gotten over his initial anxiety about dating students ( _student_ , singular, David had reminded him. It’s not like he was some sort of yoga Lothario or something), they found themselves settling into a comfortable, casual intimacy at the studio. David absolutely adored the small gestures—Patrick’s ridiculous attempts at winking, the neck kisses, the hugs—those little bits of physical affection that came so easily to Patrick, and were starting to feel more natural to him, as well. And those gestures weren’t limited to the studio; Patrick was easy with his affection wherever and whenever they found themselves together, whether it was the studio, the Apothecary, or just out and about in Schitt’s Creek and Elmdale. It was equal parts exhilarating and comforting, something David had never experienced in a relationship, something he hadn’t realized he wanted until Patrick gave it to him. 

Being in a relationship with Patrick was…nice. And, well, hot as fuck. There were some serious perks to dating a yoga teacher when it came to sexy times. Add in Patrick’s utter delight and enthusiasm in exploring previously dormant aspects of his sexuality? David was thoroughly, bone-deep satisfied, if a bit sleep deprived. 

That exhaustion was _definitely_ worth it. 

***

A few months after his semi-firm opening, though, David found himself struggling again, overwhelmed by the weight of a life in almost perpetual motion. The store was doing well—better than even the “best case scenario" first quarter projections he’d mapped out with Patrick’s aid—and his relationship with Patrick was growing stronger by the day. Things were going so well, in fact, that David felt bad about it, like he was somehow tempting fate. His months of mindfulness and yoga practice may have eased some of David’s anxiety, but there was still that nagging part of his brain that couldn’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop. The part of his brain that whispered in ear at night, telling him that David Rose doesn’t _deserve_ to be happy. A lifetime of broken promises had conditioned David to know that as fact, a reality held deep within his soul. The better things went for him, the more terrified he became that it was going to come crashing down around him. 

Perhaps the most frustrating part of the whole situation, though, is that this time David knew a way that he could deal with the stress; he just didn’t have the time to make the stupid drive to Elmdale to get enough of his yoga fix. He found himself grumbling about it to his boyfriend ( _boyfriend!_ ) on an almost daily basis. Unfortunately, the grumbling couldn’t magically give David more hours in his days.

Twyla had their usual drink orders ready as they slid into the corner booth at Cafe Tropical. “I’ve been thinking,” Patrick set down his tea and reached for David’s hand as soon he saw the anxiety prickle in David’s posture. He interlaced their fingers and drew their hands up to his face, dropping a soft kiss to each of David’s knuckles. “Don’t worry, it’s a _good_ thing, David. Promise.” David let out a shaky exhale and lifted his eyebrows, “Oooh-kay.” 

“So, I was thinking about the store...and you know, with a little more capital, I think you’d be able to bring in additional help. Give yourself a little bit of a break. Maybe even make it to Elmdale on Thursday nights,” he waggled his own barely-there eyebrows suggestively. 

David narrowed his eyes. “A little more capital,” he drew out the words, “and how, exactly, would I go about getting that?” 

“Well, when you're supporting local business, there are grants that you can apply for,” Patrick said. “And I would be happy to assist you with those applications.” He was using his customer service voice now, the one he used when he talked to clients about licensing fees and filing quarterly taxes and things. It was unfair how fucking hot it was for him to be using _that_ voice—all serious and confident and detached, like a good and responsible business person—while his thumb was drawing delicious little circles on David’s palm, and his eyes were all dark and hungry, and he had just let his foot brush up the inside of David’s calf. _Fuck._ His dick was interested. 

“Well,” David’s voice cracked because Patrick’s foot was still climbing and they were in the goddamn _cafe_ and this was _so_ fucking unfair, but he didn’t want it to stop, “that is very…um,” and _motherfucking goddamn shit fuck,_ Patrick’s shoe was off and they’d have to discuss how fucking incorrect _that_ was at a later date, but not now because his foot was now sliding up David’s inner thigh, “very generous.”

“Well, I wouldn't be doing it for free,” Patrick’s eyes were dark, but otherwise, his entire demeanor was serious business, even as he pressed the ball of his foot against David’s crotch, and _goddamn_ it this was cruel and unusual and David definitely wanted more. “See, if these grants came through, you'd have the money to start paying me.” 

They were sitting at the _cafe_ , right there in front of Twyla and a selection of Jazzagals and Bob at the counter, and his boyfriend was rubbing him off through his goddamned pants with his _foot_. 

“Okay. Um—” How the fuck was David supposed to do things like remember to breathe and use words right now? He cleared his throat and tried again to make the words happen. “Well, uh, then yes... I am open to entertaining your investment offer.” 

David swallowed thickly, tried to school his breathing into something less frantic as Patrick continued to rub his now uncomfortably hard dick. The smug fucker was grinning now, and goddamnit David was so turned on he wanted to scream. “Um, and you do know that if the grant money doesn't come through, then I won’t—” 

“Oh, I'm gonna get the money,” Patrick cut him off, and just as abruptly, withdrew his foot. 

“You asshole,” David muttered under his breath. “You’re going to pay for that.” 

“Oh, I know,” the grin on Patrick’s face was something David could only describe as “fond shit-eating,” and he wanted to wipe it away with his tongue, or maybe his dick. Both. Both would definitely work. “How about we go to the shop and work on those grants now?” 

Patrick’s laptop ran out of battery as it sat, neglected, on the desk while they found other ways to occupy their time. And funny thing...Patrick didn’t look quite so smug when David was done with him. 


	15. Vishuddha Yoga 2.0

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An epilogue, of sorts...more time has passed; Patrick did, in fact, get the money, and now they're working together.

The typical rush of lunchtime traffic had ended, and the shop was empty. Patrick stood behind the counter, idly tapping his fingers against the weathered wood as he looked through something probably spreadheety on his laptop. David stood at the curtain for a moment, admiring the view, before sauntering forward. He slid his arms around Patrick’s waist, molding his body to Patrick’s back, and rested his chin on Patrick’s shoulder. “I have a surprise for you,” he whispered, his lips ghosting against Patrick’s earlobe. 

“Not during business hours, David.” Patrick’s complaint would have more bite if he hadn’t shivered at the sensation of David’s mouth against his skin. And, you know, if he wasn’t the one who’d gotten carried away one too many times since he started working as Rose Apothecary’s business manager. 

“Mmm,” David didn’t argue, just withdrew his mouth. And maybe he _was_ a little satisfied that Patrick’s head followed him as he stepped back, which led Patrick to stumble backward into David’s arms. David gave him a loving squeeze and pressed him upright. 

“Come with me,” David held out his hand. Patrick accepted. 

David led his boyfriend around the tables to the back stairwell. 

“David?” Patrick sounded suspicious, and with good reason. The last time David had asked him to help with the upstairs space he’d spent several hours hauling dusty old racks and displays from the old general store downstairs and out into Roland’s truck. 

“Don’t worry, honey,” David said over his shoulder as they climbed the rickety old staircase, “it’s a _good_ thing. Promise.” That “honey” had slipped out unbidden, but it tasted good in his mouth. He felt of prickle of anxiety, but that dissipated immediately upon hearing Patrick’s sharp inhale, feeling his hand squeeze David’s tighter. David pursed his lips together and glanced up at the ceiling in glee. _Honey._

“Now, when we get to the top of the stairs, you’re gonna need to close your eyes.” 

“Okay, David,” Patrick breathed. 

When they reached the landing, David turned so that he could either cover Patrick’s eyes or take hold of both hands; he wasn’t quite sure which would feel more urgent. What won out, though, was kissing. Kissing was _definitely_ the most pressing need. He clasped both hands at the back of Patrick’s head and pulled him forward, pressing his lips against Patrick’s.

Patrick cuddled close, sliding his arms around David’s ribcage and splaying his hands wide across his back, his tongue teasing David’s bottom lip then sweeping into his mouth. David moaned into the kiss, because, _well._ Patrick’s kisses were like nothing he’d ever experienced before—imagined, even. Patrick’s kisses could slowly tear David apart, make him lose sense of time and space until there’s nothing but _them_. Patrick’s mouth pressed against David’s, sometimes soft and gentle and easy; other times rough and wild and desperate; always fucking perfect. 

David was a little woozy when he finally managed to break off the kiss. He rested his forehead against Patrick’s while he waited for his breath to return to normal. 

“Close your eyes, Patrick.” 

Patrick obeyed. 

David carefully guided his boyfriend from the landing into the center of the room, leading Patrick by the hand as he navigated around nonexistent obstacles, just…well, just _because._ When David couldn’t bear the anticipation any longer, he stopped suddenly, which caused Patrick to walk into him. And, _well_. Maybe it wasn’t necessary to lean in for another kiss before Patrick opened his eyes. 

No, David decided, as their lips met in another gentle kiss, it was _absolutely_ necessary. 

“Okay,” David said, still slightly breathless, then kissed the tip of Patrick’s nose. “Now, open your eyes.”

Those few seconds—waiting for Patrick’s eyes to open, watching him take in the scene around him—felt like approximately forty-two eternities, eternities in which David was laid bare before him, vulnerable and exposed and so _so_ hopeful. 

David watched his boyfriend’s eyes flutter open, then grow wide. He watched Patrick’s mouth drop as he tried to look everywhere at once. The afternoon sunlight bathed the cool blue walls in golden light. The boring but practical IKEA Kallax cube shelving unit set up along the back wall; the much more aesthetically pleasing repurposed bookcases holding blocks and blankets and straps near the front windows; the antique banquette set up as a counter at the corner closest to the stairwell. 

“Surprise,” David murmured. 

“David?” was all Patrick managed to choke out. He was shaking his head in disbelief, blinking rapidly as if to ward off the tears. In nearly six months together, David had never seen his boyfriend quite so overwhelmed. Patrick’s eyes were still wandering, taking in every little detail of the space, from the plants in the windows to the stone figures lining the walls to the refinished hardwood floors that absolutely gleamed in the sun. 

“W-wh-what is this?” Patrick looked up at David with the biggest, gooiest heart eyes possible.

David knew his face was probably projecting all the messy emotions he was trying not to vomit out in the moment, as he took a deliberate step to the side so that Patrick could see what he’d been hiding.

“How would you feel about expanding beyond your Elmdale location?”

“Really?” Patrick’s voice broke a little, and he blinked rapidly to ward off the tears. “You did this for me?”

David nodded furiously as Patrick swept him into a passionate embrace. “Thank you, David.”

And this time, it was Patrick who felt the kiss was absolutely necessary.   
  
***

Later, as they locked up the store, Patrick leaned in close, his arms wrapping around David’s waist. He pressed himself up onto the balls of his feet and rested his chin on David’s shoulder, ghosting his lips across his neck. 

“I’m so glad you decided to start coming to my yoga class, David.” Patrick’s voice went soft and sincere. 

David sucked his lips between his teeth and nodded gently. “That is a really lovely thing to say.” David chuckled internally as he watched Patrick’s brow furrow in the reflection from the door, waiting for him to continue. _Nope_ , he thought. _Keep fishing._

“And I'm so glad I did, Patrick, because I’ve really enjoyed myself in classes, and I’ve _really_ liked getting to know you better.” Patrick had caught onto the game now, his voice playful. 

“Mmm,” David teasingly agreed. “A bold claim.” This time, he couldn’t hold back the smile. David turned himself in Patrick’s arms so that he could slide his own around Patrick’s neck. The way they’d done a thousand times before, and would do a million times again. 

Patrick drew his hand up to the back of David’s neck. 

“Just kiss me, David.” 

So he did. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special thank you to [this_is_not_nothing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/this_is_not_nothing/pseuds/this_is_not_nothing) for giving me the idea for this one, for being the bestest cheerleader ever, and for not murdering me when I whined about how long it was getting. 
> 
> Also thank you to [kiranerys42 ](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/kiranerys42) who cheered and asked questions that needed answers early on in the process. 
> 
> Thanks to [RQ](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/RhetoricalQuestions) and [Distractivate](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/Distractivate) for supplying information about the layout and dimensions of Rose Apothecary, and to [Likerealpeopledo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Likerealpeopledo/pseuds/Likerealpeopledo) for useful info about David’s shoes. Because YES, motherfuckers, those measurements in [chapter 8](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21758968/chapters/51914713#workskin) are accurate. 
> 
> Finally, as always, lots of love to the denizens of the Rosebudd Motel, for all your support and kindness over the last 6 months.

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes at the end here.
> 
> The yoga stuff in this fic is based on what I've learned from my own teachers and practice, both as a student and a yoga teacher. If you've never taken restorative yoga, give it a chance. Even without Patrick Brewer tucking you in, it's pretty darn delicious. 
> 
> The studio name is the Sanskrit term for the throat chakra (vishuddha), the fifth primary chakra. The color associated with the throat chakra is blue, which seemed like such a wonderful coincidence given Patrick's wardrobe. And as the fic mentions, blockage in this chakra is associated with poor communication and dishonesty. So it seemed to fit the character especially well. And who knows, maybe that green shirt from the season 6 spoiler pics indicates that Patrick has finally unblocked that throat chakra and is leading with his heart (anahata, which is green). You can get a nice little overview of chakras and their colors [here.](https://www.colorpsychology.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/01/chakra-colors.jpg)
> 
> Thank you for reading, and for sticking with it to the end. It means a lot to me.


End file.
